


Out of Darkness

by DethKat



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Blindness, Drama, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, eventual slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DethKat/pseuds/DethKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Metalocalypse fanfic. Charles learns to adapt to a life-altering condition with the help of the band, especially Nathan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 'Nuff said.
> 
> Gratitude: Huge thanks to my excellent Beta Reader, and partner in crime, the lovely YvetteD!
> 
> Notes: My first story! :) I am not a doctor or a scientist, so sorry if some of the medical / technical stuff is off…  
> I love Charles. Therefore I challenge him.
> 
> Warnings: Some strong language… but seriously, it's Metalocalypse, what did you expect? ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

A Voice. He could hear a voice talking above him, becoming louder, clearer, and yet he couldn’t make out what it said. He realized that he was lying down. A dull pain extended from his throbbing temples across the front of his face. He listened for the voice again and this time he could understand the words of a woman.

“Lord Ofdensen. Can you hear me? You’re safe. You’re at Mordhaus. You’re safe.”

Safe? Why was he lying here? Had he been unconscious? He reached up to rub his eyes and winced at the bruised feeling it caused. 

“Easy,” the voice said, as he felt hands taking his and placing them back by his sides. He didn’t resist. The voice repeated, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes”, Charles replied weakly, tightly closing his eyes and trying not to focus on the throbbing. “What… Where am…?” 

“Shhh. I’m going to give you something for the pain.” He hadn’t even realized he had an I.V. in one arm. She injected something into it and he felt a wave of relief slowly wash over him. 

He reached up again, ignoring her protest, and cupped his hands over his eyes, to protect himself from being overwhelmed by the light after having been asleep for so long. Carefully he opened his eyes and peered through the cracks that his fingers made. The room was dark. Where was he?

He removed his hands from his face and stiffly pushed himself up to a sitting position. He widened his eyes, straining to catch a glimpse of light from somewhere in the room.

“Why are we in the dark? What is going on here?” he demanded. This was ridiculous. It had better not be some prank the boys were pulling on him. That wouldn’t explain the pain though…

He heard another person approach, and felt a hand gently clasp his shoulder. He shook it off. This had gone too far. 

“If we really are in Mordhaus than you work for me, and I am ordering you to tell me what the hell is going on. And turn on some lights!”

“Sire,” came a male voice. “You’re in the hospital wing. You had been taken by a group of Revengencers.”

“What? What happened, and why are you working in the dark?” Nothing seemed to make sense.

“I will tell you everything we know. But, Charles,” the man started, and Charles felt his heart drop at the familiar tone, anticipating that bad news would follow. The doctor continued, “You suffered severe damage to both optic nerves. In fact, it threatened your life, but we managed to stabilize you. However, I regret very much to tell you, it’s not dark in here, Sire. The damage has left you blind.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

The quiet knock brought Charles back to the present. It had been five days since he had woken up to darkness. During this time he had memorized every detail the doctors and rescue team had told him about what had happened, constantly searching for some loop-hole, something that would somehow change an outcome which had already occurred. But deep down he trusted the Mordhaus physicians, and those outside the facility that had also been consulted. Their conclusions were always the same. And he found himself starting to accept it.

He wasn’t expecting any visitors while he was staying in what the Medical Gears referred to as the “recovery suite”. The room was not large in actuality but Charles appreciated its size. The feeling of being surrounded by walls gave him a small sense of security in this unfamiliar location. He smoothed the front of his shirt and reached up to adjust his glasses out of habit. His glasses. He had requested a new pair, and still put them on every morning, and no one questioned him. He liked the way it felt to wear them… It felt normal. Sometimes he even felt normal, at least when he was alone and not being reminded of what he had lost.

“Come in”, he called out in the direction of the door.

He could hear the door slowly open, and a tiny voice from the doorway, “Charles? It ams Toki… I broughts you something to make you feels better…”

Charles smiled slightly at the sound of the younger man’s voice, and the innocence behind his words. Sweet Toki. Charles wasn’t surprise that he’d be the first one to break the ice.

“Hello Toki. Thank you.” Cautiously he reached out in Toki’s direction just as a soft fuzzy lump was thrust into his outstretched hands. It didn’t take much of an examination before his fingers recognized Deddy Bear, and he was surprised at the small comfort that holding the bear gave him. 

“It ams Deddy Bear…” Toki’s voice trailed off.

“I can see that,” Charles replied warmly. Toki’s exclamation instantly made him regret his choice of words. 

“You can!? Oh Charles, that ams wonderful news! We thoughts…” But Charles cut him off as quickly as possible, 

“No, Toki, I didn’t mean… I still can’t…” It surprised him that he couldn’t just say it. He didn’t want to say it. “I, ah, I can feel that it’s Deddy Bear… I know how he feels to touch…”

“Oh.” Came Toki’s quiet reply. There was a moment of silence, and right before Charles was about to change the subject to alleviate the awkwardness, Toki sprung forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Charles in an emotional hug.

Charles did not see this coming. He didn’t see the smile on Toki’s face or his inviting outstretched arms. He just felt himself being grabbed suddenly, and his defensive reaction was automatic. In an instant Deddy Bear was on the floor, and Charles had Toki in a choke hold. 

“Charles!” Toki yelped, his voice cracking. Realizing what had happened, Charles hurriedly released Toki, but he felt the young man start to tremble.

“Oh my god. Toki, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were going to do that, I just reacted. I… I can’t see you coming, Toki. You have to tell me if you’re going to do that…Okay? I just reacted…” This last part was said more to himself, as he started to turn away. Toki’s quiet sob brought him back around, and Charles reached out to where the childlike sound was coming from. He gently laid his hand on Toki’s trembling back, and, with his other hand, guided him back to the edge of the bed right behind them. 

“Sit with me, please” Charles said quietly. Knowing that Toki was probably somewhere between reality and his catatonic place, Charles didn’t expect a reply. After guiding the still trembling Toki to be seated on the bed, Charles took a seat next to him, and took a few deep breaths to calm his own shattered nerves. He wondered if he would ever be able to relax again, in this new world of darkness. Quickly brushing that thought aside, he reached over and put an arm around Toki’s lightly shaking shoulders.

“I’m sorry Toki. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He didn’t know what else to say.

After a long moment of silence the trembling slowed and eventually stopped. Charles slowly slid his arm back over and leaned down to feel for something on the ground in front of them. It was right around here, wasn’t it? He found nothing but the cold stone floor. Then he was aware of Toki leaning down next to him, gently taking the top of his searching hand, and leading him to the plush object that was just outside of where he had felt so far. 

“Ams you looking for Deddy?” Toki asked softly. 

“Yes. Ah, thank you.” Charles said as he took hold of the bear and sat up. He clutched Deddy with one hand, unexpectedly shaken by the role reversal that had just occurred. ‘I’m supposed to be the one helping him, not the other way around,’ he thought with mounting frustration. 

“I think he, ah, wants to be with you right now”, said Charles, pressing the bear into Toki’s accepting arms. Then, not wanting Toki to feel like his gift had been rejected, he added, “But, ah, thank you for bringing him, and, ah, you can bring him back to visit, ok? I would like that.”

“Ok,” said Toki, his voice sounding a little brighter. Charles imagined a small smile creeping onto the young man’s face, which only made him wish that he could see it. 

“And next times I tells you abouts the hug…”

“Alright. Thank you for visiting, Toki.”

Charles listened as Toki headed towards the door and opened it. He heard the young man call out, “Sees you later, Charles!” before the heavy door closed and he knew he was alone.

“See you,” Charles whispered into the darkness. He slipped off his glasses, closed his eyes and rubbed his aching temples. After a few minutes he felt a little calmer, more in control. But as he opened his eyes to darkness he felt the wave of anger and frustration wash over him again. He grabbed his glasses and angrily flung them as hard as he could in front of him. He heard them crack as the hit the door, followed by the sound of several pieces landing on the stone tile. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Charles Ofdensen laid his head in his hands and quietly started to sob.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

Charles didn’t know how long he’d been asleep. Was it even morning or still sometime that night? His eyes still felt slightly puffy, but they were dry. His head was pounding- the sinus pressure from last night’s emotional release coupled with the dull pain he still sometimes felt as a result of the trauma he endured that had stripped him of his sight. But as he sat up and rubbed his eyes he realized that he felt alright. He felt determined. He had a job to do and he needed to figure out how to keep doing it. 

He had so much at his disposal- devoted personnel, advanced technology- surely there would be ways to allow him to do the things he needed to. He thought about what those things were- the basic elements of his job. Reading. Writing. Calculation. Negotiation. It would be hard but he knew the physical challenges associated with all of these could somehow be met. Then there was, of course, Babysitting. Charles rolled his sightless eyes as he thought about what was by far the most difficult part of his job. 

Creating and maintaining a multi-billion dollar empire which played a key role in world economics would be relatively easy if it didn’t involve the constant financial, emotional and sometimes even physical management of the members of Dethklok themselves. But this was also what made it worthwhile for him.  
He pressed a button to activate the communication device in his watch. 

“How can we help you, Lord Ofdensen?” came the voice of a Gear who was working in dispatch. 

“What is the current time?”

If the dispatcher was fazed by this question he didn’t show it. “Just passed 0600, Sire.”

“Schedule a meeting for me at 1500 with the heads of the Engineering and Medical Departments. And have the Attending Doctor come see me now.”

“Yes, Sire, I’ll send the Doctor in. Do you desire to hold the meeting in your current suite?”

“No, in my office. Thank you, that’s all.”

Within minutes Charles heard a rap on the stone door. 

“Come in”, he called out and stood to greet the Medical Klokateer.

“Sire, how are you feeling?” the male Doctor asked. Charles could tell by the voice that this was the main Doctor who had been overseeing his care. He heard a slight crunch and realized that the Gear had stepped on the remains of his glasses.

“I will have someone come clean this up, Sire” 

“The cleanup can wait. I’m feeling like I’m ready to get out of here anyway. And I’ve got a meeting to attend this afternoon. So between now and then I need to get my affairs in order and check out.”

“Shall I have an occupational therapist come see you?”

Charles had only recently realized how much the Gears looked to him for orders, even when to came to his own medical care. 

“If that’s what you deem appropriate. You’re the Doctor. I just want to be able to walk out of here this afternoon and end up in my office, not in one of those obscure wings of Mordhaus where I’m likely to get shot during someone’s target practice.”

The Gear was utterly humorless. “No one would ever shoot you, Sire.”

“Noted and appreciated. I will call for the, ah, occupational therapist shortly then “

“Yes, Sire. Is there anything else?”

“Actually there is one more thing. Get me a new pair of glasses.”

“Sire?”

“You heard me. That should be all.”

The Doctor was making his way to the door when Charles stopped him.

“Actually… Doctor… I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything, my Lord.” Charles could hear the man turn and approach him. It was not common for him to get this personal with the Gears, even the “Professionals”, but he wasn’t sure who else to ask.

“Tell me how my eyes look. Honestly.”

There was a pause. Charles couldn’t tell if it was from awkwardness or if the man was simply already focusing on the task.

“They are clear. They appear normal, Sire” the Gear replied after a moment. 

This made sense, as it were his optic nerves that were destroyed- his actual eyes were fine. But that wasn’t what Charles was concerned about. He continued, 

“When I talk to you, and you’re looking at my face... do you find them to be, ah, distracting?”

Another, longer, pause, although Charles guessed that the other man had been observing him the whole time they spoke.

“It is… perhaps a bit distracting, Sire. I am aware that you are not… looking at me.”

It was as he suspected, but still, Charles didn’t like hearing it. It wasn’t just for reasons of vanity, he tried to convince himself, as the Gear was left standing in silence. He could not allow himself to appear disconnected during conversations. Negotiations would be difficult enough without the ability to visually size up his opponent. He had hoped to avoid the stereotypical “badge” of blindness, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the lesser of two evils.

“Thank you. I appreciated your, ah, honesty. So, as for the glasses, make the lenses dark… very dark. I’d like several pairs, and, ah, get one to me before my meeting this afternoon. That’s all.” 

“Of course, Sire.” He turned and Charles let him leave this time. 

Charles then cautiously and somewhat awkwardly went about what had become his typical grooming routine during the few days he had been, as the medical personnel said in “recovery”. He hated that term, as it only served to remind him that there was no recovery.

The staff here had laid out all his things where they would be easy for him to find. After insisting, on day one, that he was not going to suffer an assistant guiding him through his own morning routine, Charles had been shown where everything was and left to his own devices, the way he wanted. He was of the “sink or swim” mindset when it came to dealing with challenges, and he was either going to swim now or die trying. 

Charles wasn’t sure how long it took before he was showered, dressed and ready for his visit with the occupational therapist. It felt to him like everything took so much longer now. Maybe it was just because he had to remain so focused on each task, and even then he felt like he was fumbling through it all. He made his way cautiously back and forth from one section of the small suite to another, guided by a hand along the contour of the wall, or furniture. He was glad to know that even when he was back in his own quarters he could request that the housekeeping staff straighten things out in his absence and replace anything he might drop or knock over, so that he would be able to find it again the next time he needed it. There certainly had been a few things here that he had accidentally displaced this morning. He wasn’t even sure of what they were. 

But it didn’t matter now. As always, Charles was moving on to the next task. He activated the com unit on his watch again and indicated that he was ready for his session with the therapist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

She guided him towards a larger room, seemingly in the same complex as his suite. He tried to walk confidently, knowing that other Gears were around, and probably watching him, but the uncertainty of having no idea what surrounded him cautioned his every step, despite having taken hold of her arm to guide him.

It was easy for her to see his hesitation. “There are a variety of things we can work on to increase your ability to perceive the environment around you. It won’t always be this scary.”

Scary? He wanted to fire her then and there. But she was just doing her job, and she was right. He was scared. But he kept walking, despite the overwhelming urge to stop and let himself be swallowed up by the darkness. 

When they arrived at their destination she described it to him. “This is one of the studios where we conduct occupational therapy for Gears & other staff that are injured or maimed on the job. Picture it like a gym or a dance studio. Basically a big, open room. This particular room, along with its highly trained staff, has been reserved for you, Sire, as long as you should need it. ”

Charles knew that the incidence of workplace injuries among Mordhaus staff was abnormally high. He was also aware that many Gears continued to work for Dethklok after recovering from or adjusting to their conditions. Somehow Dethklok inspired that kind of loyalty, despite the fact that their mere presence seemed often to lead to random brutal accidents. Charles had always been immune to this “curse of Dethklok”. And he felt like while what had happened to him was tied to his association with the band, it didn’t have anything to do with this strange “bad luck”. He has always felt a strong connection with the phenomenon that is Dethklok. The power, and responsibility that came with controlling and containing such a force- somehow he still felt in control of this. He knew it had not turned on him.   
His internal dialogue was interrupted by the physical therapist approaching from a distance. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts he hadn’t even realized that she had left his side. He admonished himself. 

“You’re going to want this,” the Gear announced pleasantly as she got close. She was more direct than the other Doctor, which he appreciated.

“Am I?” Charles inquired. He already had an idea of what it was, and reached out with mixed emotions. The fiberglass cane was folded and he took it and examined it with his fingers. Another badge. But one that was necessary for his increased independence. He slid the three separate parts, held together by an elastic string, together to extend the cane. He felt all the way down the length, wanting to get a mental picture of how long it was, and what it might look like. Then, quickly, he announced “Okay, show me how to do this. I have a meeting to get to.”

“Lord Ofdensen,” came the gentle voice of the Gear, “it’s going to take many sessions for you to become proficient at walking safely and independently with the help of the cane. It’s not something anyone can teach you in a few hours. In the meantime, one of your staff will be assigned to you at all times, to guide you to where you need to go.”

Charles turned and took a few steps away, not wanting her to see any signs of frustration on his face. ‘Make it happen!’ he wanted to yell at her. ‘I’m the manager and CFO of one of the greatest forces on the planet! I have a schedule!’ He knew deep down, of course, that she was right. Adapting to this disability was not something he could just pencil in when it was convenient. But he had tried to do it anyways, in one last attempt to regain some of the normalcy of his old life. He took a deep, calming breath before turning back to where the therapist stood.

“Okay then. Where do we start?”

She proceeded to give a verbal overview of how to hold the cane and the sweeping and tapping motions used. The purpose of the cane, he gathered, was to extend the users range of perception a few feet. The other senses, she explained, could also be used to extend this perception further. In essence, the cane, which, she explained was her area of focus with him, was just one faculty that would contribute to his new way of perceiving the world. Charles listened carefully, trying to wrap his mind around the idea learning a whole new way to “see” what surrounded him.

“ I have one more thing for you before we get started.” She approached and handed him something that felt very familiar. He slipped the band at the end of the cane over his wrist to allow two hands to unfolded the glasses she had given him. He slid them on, the cane swinging on his wrist as he did. They felt familiar and comforting. He felt stronger.

“Are they dark?” he asked.

“Blacker than the blackest black times infinity,” came a deep, unexpected reply across the room, in front of him.

It only took a second to connect that distinctive voice with the presence of one Nathan Explosion. What was he doing here, at this supposedly private therapy session? Charles did not like being caught in what he considered a very vulnerable position.

“Hey Charles,” Nathan said, almost a little bashfully. His shy tone softened the CFO . It also confused him a little.

“Hello Nathan. What, ah, brings you here… to, ah, this..? Can I help you with something?”

“No. I just felt like coming to… say hi.” He paused, and then, as if unloading a burden, he started talking. “We thought you were gone again, you know. Dead. Not coming back. For real this time. For good.” There was a pause, then he finished, “I’m glad you came back, Charles.” 

Charles was taken aback by what was, by Nathan’s standards, an emotional statement.

“Ah, thank you Nathan…” before he could think of what else to say Nathan interrupted him.

“And I’m sorry that you’re blind now. That really sucks. But I need to know… are you still gonna, you know, be our manager?"

The question was as much of a shock as Nathan’s sudden appearance.

“Ah, yes, I’d like to. If, ah, that’s what all of you want...” It had never occurred to Charles to ask.

“Well fuck yeah it’s alright. Oh my god, Murderface is already planning that fuckin’ sandscape thing again. That was just all kinds of wrong. Seriously, it was so fucked. So, like, we need you to, like, do whatever it is that you do, so shit like that doesn’t happen.”

Someone who didn’t know the boys as well would have simply thought the request petty, and the conversation very inappropriate for the time and place. But Charles knew the part he played in the Dethklok dynamic, and whether preventing the boys from causing World War 3, or preventing the common room from looking like a bad peyote trip, what mattered was that he was still needed. ‘The boys don’t just stop being, well, the boys, at your convenience,’ Charles mused, the thought sending a slight smile to his face.

“What’s so funny?” Nathan inquired.

“Ah, that sandscape, it really was awful.” Charles answered, knowing this would satisfy Nathan.

“God, I know! At least you won’t be able to see it if he did it again. I would have to kill him though. Another thing you would probably be glad not to see, cause it’d be pretty brutal.”

Charles marveled at how Nathan just breezed candidly through the potentially awkward “sight” comments. ‘Leave it to him to treat me normally,’ Charles thought, his smile growing slightly. Nathan’s idea of ‘normal’ may be harsh and to the point, but Charles appreciated it nonetheless.

Just then an alarm went off on his watch. He silenced it with a voice-command and turned to where he hoped the female Gear still stood. “I’m sorry, I need to leave now. I’ll, ah, check in with you tomorrow. Thank you.”

“A member of your guard is waiting outside to take you to your office, Sire.” She replied, unfazed and un-offended at her lesson being interrupted and then cut short.

“You have a guard!?” Nathan interjected. “What the fuck were they doing when you got captured? Or the last time, when you got killed??”

“Ah, they don’t follow me everywhere, Nathan,”

“Well they should have. Who are they anyway? They could be anyone. Charles, they could be them.” Charles knew Nathan was referring to the Revengencers. He had never seen Nathan so paranoid and worked up before. But then the boys were usually oblivious to the catastrophes that occurred around them. Charles’ condition served as a potent reminder of an incident they couldn’t ignore.

“Nathan, please relax. The higher ranking Gears are reliable and trust-worthy. I personally oversee their training.” Or did. 

“Well I don’t trust them,” came Nathan’s sullen reply. “Where are you going? I’ll take you.” Most people would have taken this as a statement not to be argued with. Charles was not most people. And, as well-intentioned as Nathan was, Charles knew his propensity to stay on task was not strong when he wasn’t focused on his music. They’d probably end up in the common room, or on the golf course or something. 

“Ah, thank you Nathan, but I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at tomorrow’s band meeting, ok?”

“What? No, you’ll see me now, cause I’m coming with you and your “guard”,” he said this last word suspiciously. “Just to be sure…”

Charles sighed. There was no way to shake Nathan so he might as well just accept his unnecessary shadowing. Nathan would probably get bored and leave part way through the walk anyway. 

By this time the guard had entered the room and was at Charles’ side. 

“Sire, take hold of my arm” the Gear instructed. Charles wasn’t sure how he knew that Nathan was about to protest, but he did. He turned sharply in what he hoped was still Nathan’s direction and cocked his head warningly. The gesture worked, Charles realized with a mixture of surprise and pleasure, as Nathan replied,

“Fine, but I’m watching you. Both of you.” 

Charles knew he needed to let Nathan live out his paranoia and eventually it would go away.

“Okay then, you do that. Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

Charles had to admit, he did enjoy the singer’s company on the walk. The Gear at his side was careful and effective as a guide, but not much for conversation, while Nathan seemed content to narrate their route and make small talk, even with little or no reply from Charles. It may have been annoying under different circumstances, but Charles appreciated the narration, and tried to maintain a mental image of where they were. His attention was split between this and the double-task of following alongside the guard while simultaneously attempting to feel out the area in front of him with the cane, as described to him by the occupational therapist. Several times he managed to trip up his guide, as he swung the cane too far over into the guard’s path. Once Nathan almost snapped it, as he walked right into another errant swing. Charles managed to stop himself from yelling at the larger man, knowing that this was a new experience for all of them. Eventually Charles knew he would develop a style and rhythm to the use of the cane, and those around him would become accustomed to accommodating it. But that reality felt a long way off. It was the longest walk Charles could remember ever taking. He was very relieved as they rounded the last corner and Nathan announced that the door to his office was in sight. Upon reaching the door, Charles felt briefly along the wall for the wall-mounted scanner, found it fairly easily, and placed his palm against the device to have it scanned. Once a positive ID was established, the lock on the door clicked open. Charles turned to his entourage.

“Thank you gentlemen. I’ll take it from here.” 

“I’ll be waiting here when you’re ready to leave, Sire,” the guard said dutifully.

“That won’t be necessary. I will call for someone if I need to,” Charles replied, partly to save Nathan from feeling like he had to guard the guard, and partly because he had no intention of leaving after the meeting was over. This little part of Mordhaus was his world, and he intended to get reacquainted with it.

 

***************

 

The meeting was productive and eye-opening. His engineering and medical staff, along with a representative from his occupational therapy team definitely had some intriguing ideas in terms of adaptive technology. Part of him wasn’t surprised- if they could create robotic eyes for Dick Knubler, and robotic arms for Dr. Twinkletits he was hopeful they could come up with something that would be able to assist him. But he also knew his situation was different. His eyes were relatively fine. It was his optic nerve that had been destroyed- the link between his eyes and his brain. Charles, for the most part, found himself just listening and contributing an occasional opinion when it was asked for. It was not how he typically participated in meetings, but then he had never been to a meeting like this before. Tomorrow he would have another meeting- this time with the band.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

Charles made sure to be settled at the head of the table in the conference room before any of the band members filtered in. As it were they all arrived in a pack, which meant they were probably doing something together before coming. Charles was interrupted from wondering what they had been up to when he heard a familiar voice.

“Dood! Welcome back. I dig the shades!” Charles couldn’t help but smile slightly

“Ah, thank you Pickles.”

Another voice started off enthusiastically. “I broughts Deddy Bear to the meetings so you could sees him again… I means, so, uh, you could…” he trailed off hesitantly and Charles quickly filled in for him,

“So I could see him again. Yes, thank you Toki. And how is Deddy Bear doing?”

“He ams doing good!” The lightness was back in Toki’s voice as he handed the stuffed animal to Charles. Charles had observed, during some difficult conversations with the troubled young man, that sometimes when it came to talking about his own feelings Toki felt safer expressing himself through the bear. So he was glad that “Deddy” seemed to be in good spirits. Charles placed the bear on the table in front of him.

“Charlesch. I know this muscht be rough. So if there’s anything you need… ANYTHING… you juscht let me know, okay, buddy??” The last part was practically whispered as Murderface patronizingly squeezed Charles by the shoulders and leaned down so their heads were nearly touching. Charles heard one of the other band-members groan. They had all been witness to Murderface’s previous awkward and misguided attempts at “valor”, and subjected to the Holier-Than-Thou attitude that always accompanied the display. Charles did, however, appreciate that this was the bass player’s own way of dealing with the situation, and managed to suppress his annoyance until Murderface’s lisping dialect caused a delicate spray of saliva to land on his face. Charles deftly twisted out of the other man’s grip and quickly wipe himself off with his sleeve, all while thanking Murderface for his “concern” and expressing that he would let him know should he need any “assistance”. This seemed to satisfy Murderface and he headed to his seat, commenting to one of the others “It’s just such a schame!” Charles rolled his eyes, knowing that they probably couldn’t see it though his dark glasses.

Nathan came up then and leaned down towards Charles. “Uh...there’s spit on your glasses.” He whispered. “Do you want me to…”  
“No. I’ve got it. Thank you for telling me though...” Before he dealt with the glasses he turned back to Nathan and asked quietly, “Is everyone here and seated?” It felt strange to have to ask that.

“Yeah.” Nathan replied quietly with his gravelly voice. And he went to go sit down, brushing lightly against Charles shoulder as he passed. Charles felt himself flush and wondered if the contact hadn’t been accidental. But he quickly chastised himself for giving it a second thought and turned his attention back to his glasses. He slid them off and pulled a little cloth from his shirt pocket to wipe them with. Then, as he was about to put them back on he stopped and gently set them down on the table. He felt that letting the band see his eyes, one last time, was not only a way to make this all the more real for them, but also a sign of the respect and trust he had for them. 

“I called you all here to talk about how this affects the band.” Everyone knew what this referred to. “I have every intention of finding ways to still do my job. I want you to know that all of you, and Dethklok as a whole, are very, very important to me. And above all I want you all to know that…. None of you are to blame, in any way, for what happened.”

He paused and took a deep breath. The boys were all aware that Charles had gone missing during the last of the promotional events for their most recent album. This was a little under 2 weeks ago. His absence had been purposely glossed over, and then downplayed in an effort to keep the band from getting worked up and trying to take matters into their own hands. Just as their suspicions were mounting, Charles was located and rescued. Now he was back, but he was blind. They didn’t know any details. 

“I was taken by the Revengencers, lead by the Man with the Silver Face. I’m not sure exactly how it happened, it’s all very foggy. I remember they had some kind of new weapon that we haven’t encountered before, but the details are…” He paused, frustrated that he couldn’t remember more of the attack. “All the Gears that were with me at the time were killed trying to save me, but it seems they wanted me alive.” 

Another pause. “The Man in the Silver Face has a lab, where, we’ve discovered, he practices… extremely unethical medicine, if you can even call it that. But he definitely has medical training, and very high tech equipment. From the plans that were intercepted when I was rescued, we can guess that the goal of… the procedure they attempted on me… was the installation of some kind of a digital satellite link along both my optic nerves which would allow them to download a continuously streaming image of everything I saw. We gather that they intended to do this, and then return me, to gain classified information through my eyes.”

“Since we don’t know exactly what they were doing, we don’t know specifically, ah, what went wrong. But at some point, most likely a critical one, the operation was, ah, botched, and… Well, they abandoned the plan. It appears there was some kind of fight among the, ah, assailants, because I’m told there were several recently killed bodies at the scene where I was found. Whatever techniques they were using to surgically implement the link were very un-invasive. Probably laser-based. And while they didn’t manage to install their information link, they did manage, in the attempt, to, ah, severely damage parts of my optic nerves.”

“Well if they ams just hurt parts of the opticals nerve then why ams you all blind?” Toki asked innocently.

Charles inwardly gathered his strength before continuing. He recalled what the doctors had told him and proceeded to deliver a shortened version, with the stoicism that the band had come to expect from him.

“Whatever started to destroyed the nervous tissue also caused it to become acutely necrotic... The dead tissue became infected, which is especially serious around the blood-brain barrier. The doctors had to get rid of the necrotic tissue to prevent brain infection and, ah, death. Traumatic surgery was out of the question due to my already unstable condition. The quickest and safest way was to inject a special substance which can be programmed to dissolve specific types of nervous tissue. But it’s only so specific. They effectively had to destroy the remainder of my optic nervous tissue in order to save me from a serious brain infection which most likely would have resulted in my death.” 

“Holy shit!” Nathan bellowed. “OUR Doctors did this to you? I will fucking kill them!!”

“NO you won’t!” Charles slammed a fist down on the table, feeling his emotions start to surface. Nathan, by the sound of it, had sprung up from the table and was on his feet. “They did what they had to do. I would have died. Or worse.” The thought of being in a vegetative state, trapped between life and death, horrified him. “But I’m here now. I’m going to learn to deal with this. And I expect you all to do the same!” 

He wasn’t used to given Dethklok orders, and they certainly weren’t used to getting them. He wondered if that last comment was out of line. He didn’t really expect anything from them. He only wanted it. Charles took the moment to catch his breath, waiting for any reactions from the band. He realized that he was shaking very slightly and hoped they couldn’t see it.

After a long pause, he heard a sound that made his heart sink. Nathan’s heavy footsteps slowly walking towards the door. But the boots stopped next to where Charles sat. It seemed to Charles that Nathan was bending down, and when he rose again he placed something in Charles’ hands.

“He fell off the table when you hit it.” Nathan said, sounding surprisingly calm, as Charles recognized the stuffed bear and put him back on the table where Toki could see that Deddy was okay. 

Nathan walked back to the table and took his seat. Charles was trying to absorb what had just happened. Whether the gesture was made for himself or for Toki, Charles was struck by the thoughtfulness behind it.

“How did they find you?” Pickles inquired, providing a welcome link back to the earlier conversation.

“The Church of the Black Klok has tracking technology that surpasses even our own.” 

“Don’t they have the technology to repair nerve damage? I mean, they brought you back from the dead!”

“Pickles… There is no optic nerve tissue to be repaired. It’s gone.” 

The sobering fact was followed by more silence. Charles strained his ears to place a familiar sound and then realized that he was hearing the lightening-fast patter of Skwisgaar’s nimble fingers as he air-played his guitar. The intensity of the playing told Charles all he needed to know about how the guitarist was doing with all this- he was escaping from something he didn’t want to deal with.

Charles continued. “So now you know what happened. I don’t want you to dwell on it, I just thought you all deserved to know. It happened. It’s over. And it’s time to start moving on. I’ve been talking with the various science departments about possible forms of adaptive technology. I’m telling you this because it’s likely I’ll be taking another brief medical leave.”

“What are they going to do to you??” Murderface asked with interest. He had always been fascinated by anything remotely morbid.

“Any kind of visual perception is out of the question. But there may be a way, using sonar technology, to allow me to perceive solid matter, including people, within a certain area. In brief, it would involve connecting a sonar receptor to my visual cortex.” Probably followed by years of learning how to use the damn thing, he thought bitterly. But it was his best option.

“Wait… So you’re gonna get brain surgery from the bastards who destroyed your vision?” Nathan’s voice rose in anger again. “What the hell are you thinking!!??”

Charles was appalled. He was not used to being spoken to like this. 

“What the hell am I thinking?? I’m thinking that I don’t want to be blind, Nathan! But I don’t have much of a choice. So if there’s an option that at least allows me to one day be able to walk down the hall without a guide, or that fucking white cane, I am pretty damn interested!!”

Oh my god. Charles could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Oh my god. Did he really just explode in front of his band? He never would have allowed them to see him so emotionally out of control before. 

He had to say something, anything, to try and make this right. He took a deep breath.

“I may not have been ready to come back to you yet. I’m sorry.” And suddenly, feeling more emotionally open and vulnerable as one often did in the dark, he found himself opening up to them unexpectedly. “I feel… like I’m surrounded by emptiness. Everything is gone. Everyone is gone. Unless I touch it it’s not real anymore. I’m sorry for yelling… There’s this awful sense of anonymity… I keep having to remind myself that I’m still here, that you’re still here. Like right now… you are all sitting at the table like we normally do, probably ignoring me, and I am babbling like an idiot. Hell, maybe you’ve all silently left and I’m here talking to myself? How do I deal with that??”

“We’re still here,” Nathan replied, almost at a whisper.

“We ams still here,” Toki echoed softly.

“Holy schit, he’sch not a robot!” Murderface exclaimed in an excited whisper.

Charles, in his heightened emotional state, actually laughed. “No, Muderface, I’m not. This would be a hell of a lot easier if I was though.”

“You means the brains skurgerys?” Charles was surprised to hear Skwisgaar’s voice. He listened for the sound of fingers against strings and didn’t hear it. 

“Well all of it, but that too.”

“Whats if yous dies again. We can’ts keeps doings this.” The quiet guitar playing recommenced and it was clear to Charles why.

“Skwisgaar… All of you… The neurosurgeons we have at our disposal are the best. Beyond the best, if you count what The Black Klok is capable of, and they will be involved. I have a critical job to do here. And I need every sense that I can possibly have to do it the way it needs to be done.”

“Don’t you juscht kind of schit at the computer and have these boring meetings and schtuff??

So much for not being a robot, thought Charles. But Murderface was right- the band really had no idea how personally involved he was in their security, or how many times he had saved their lives.

“It’s, ah, a little more complicated than that. But my point is, while I do appreciate all of your concern, I am leaning towards having this surgery. This will put me off property and out of commission for about a week. I want you to be aware of this. I do not intend to disappear again. I will return, and continue to manage Dethklok, if you will all have me.”

“Dood, of course we’ll have you! It’s just when you’re gone that things are fucked. But you gotta do this one thing, before you go, okay, you gotta make sure that Murderface does not pour fucking sand in our living room again!!”

Charles smiled as Pickles pleaded the second case against Murderface’s second sandscape plans.

“Hey!!! That schit wasch ART!!” yelled Murderface. “It’sch not my fault that you guysch don’t have good taste like Charlesch and I do! Right Charlesch??”

“Uh… You know I’m having trouble remembering what the sandscape actually looked like, and, ah, pictures are no good, so I’m afraid I really can’t comment….” 

Charles heard Nathan chuckle and the boys continued to bicker amongst themselves. For the first time since he had first opened his eyes and saw nothing, he felt like there was still a light at the end of his long, dark tunnel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

Standing by the sink in the Mordhaus “Recovery Suite”, Charles gently toweled off his freshly washed face. He wondered if he looked any different after the surgery. He had been told there was no visible scarring, and he certainly couldn’t feel any. It was amazing what they could do these days without leaving much of a mark. But they did leave something. As he often found himself doing since the surgery, he reached up to his lower-temples, just above the top of his jawbone, and gently felt the tiny, round, reception-plates that were now a part of him. To have even a small amount of technology integrated with ones biological system- it was something he found at once both fascinating and disturbing.

Feeling carefully on the shelf where he had left them, he picked up two small devices and placed them one by one just above his ears until he heard the soft click of magnetic locks connecting the devices to his body, and his nervous system. The devices were lightly curved to follow the contour of his ears, and sat just above them, allowing him to still slip on his glasses. Sensory information picked up by the sonar output would be routed directly to the visual cortex of his brain. While it wouldn’t be like seeing with his own eyes, it would, in time and with much training, allow him to interpret the proximity and size of objects around him, including people. But for now, he had been instructed to wear the devices in order for his body to get used to them, but not to activate the sonar output until he was under the supervision of his occupational therapy team. He wondered what it would be like, learning to perceive with a sense all but unknown to him, or any human for that matter.

He ran a comb through his damp hair. He was just straightened his tie when he heard a heavy knock at the door. Calling out to enter, he turned to face his guest. He had been expecting Nathan. 

“Hey Charles,” Nathan called out. “How was brain surgery?”

“It was amazing. I highly recommend it,” Charles replied dryly, but with a slight grin. He headed carefully towards the door.  
Nathan gave a small laugh, but then asked seriously, “So are those…. The things?”

Charles reached up self-consciously to one of the apparatuses, while still keeping a hand out in front to help guide himself forward. Before he could reply, Nathan continued.

“That’s pretty metal, actually. I mean, literally, you can’t get much more metal than… metal. Do they hurt?”

“No,” Charles lied. He didn’t need any more pity. And the doctors had told him that once his body adjusted to all this new hardware the dull ache he felt from temple to temple would likely dissipate. 

“Are those things like… a part of you?”

“Not exactly,” Charles answered, using the sound of Nathan’s voice to judge his proximity. He removed one of the devices and held it out for Nathan to take a closer look at. It was important to him that the band was comfortable with all this, and that nothing about it be a mystery. Questions only lead to speculation, and, knowing where the minds of the band members could tread, he wanted to avoid speculation.

“You’re like the Borg,” Nathan said frankly.

Charles had to smile. “Resistance is futile,” he replied. “I didn’t realize you were a Star Trek fan… isn’t that ah, un-metal?”

“Well, yeah kind of… just don’t’ tell the boys, okay…” Charles could hear that he was looking around as he said this. “But Star Trek can be seriously bad-ass!,” he added, slightly defensively. 

“Something we both agree on, it seems,” Charles replied with a smile. “But don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.”

“Good, cause I would never hear the end of it, and I would seriously have to kick your ass.”

“Really? You would hit a blind man??” Charles was finding the whole conversation very amusing.

“Oh, yeah, right...” Nathan was momentarily stumped. “I would find a way to get back at you though, you know I would…”  
“Noted. Well since I hear from the medical receptionist that you’ve come to accompany me as I check out of here, I’ll be sure not to spill your secret, or else I’m liable to wind up in the wolf-yard.”

“Something like that.” Charles could hear the smile in Nathan’s voice.

“But you know, you really don’t have to keep doing this for me. My entire staff checked out as far as security goes. Did you get the reports I had copied to you?” It was unorthodox but Charles thought this might make the singer feel better about his safety.

“Yeah, they all checked out. That’s cool. But… I kinda like hanging out with you sometimes…”

This was the last thing Charles expected to hear. 

“Oh… Well, thank you, Nathan…”

“You know, you’re kinda cool to talk to. Skwissgaar and Toki can be so damn hard to understand. Pickles is good but he’s always so fucking wasted. And Muderface can be such a douchebag.” Then, as if no further explanation was needed he added “You must want to get the hell out of here, this place is like the size of a closet!”

“Well it may appear disproportionately small to someone who has a custom-made bed that could comfortably sleep 20.”

“Not comfortably!”

Charles shook his head, smiling. He felt Nathan move out of his way as he brushed past on his way to the door. Feeling along the wall next to the door frame he located a hook where his cane and glasses hung. He slipped the glasses on and took hold of the cane. He wasn’t great at using it yet, and still didn’t love the idea, but he had been making steady improvements with the therapist’s help. 

“Shall we?” he asked, as he opened the door, allowing Nathan to exit ahead of him. He was relatively familiar with the layout of the suite, but not as much with the medical reception area that it opened out to. As he made his way out behind Nathan he instructed,

“I’d like to take hold of your arm until we get out of the medical wing- it can be quite chaotic in here. Then I’ll see what I can do with this baby,” he indicated the cane. “Your job then becomes, ah, just don’t let me run into anything.”

“It might be tempting, but I’ll try not to,” was Nathan’s gravelly reply. Charles glanced up towards him, wishing he could see the man’s expression. But the tone of their entire conversation told him that this was just one more playful jest. There was something about this vulnerable place he found himself in that made it easier for Charles to lighten up. For the first time in his adult life he was relying heavily on the support of others, and he only risked embarrassment if he took himself too seriously. 

Once they were safely out in the halls of Mordhaus, Nathan gently relinquished his arm. “Alright, have at it. I’ll be in the hot tub or something, if you need me.”

Charles figured he let a look of panic flash across his face because Nathan quickly took back the comment. 

“I’m just kidding, relax! I’m not leaving. Uh, I guess that was not cool, so, uh, yeah. Seriously though, it’s all you now, like you said, right? But I’ll be right here…”

Charles marveled at the almost-apology. It was about as close as one got from Nathan. But no apology was necessary. He had insisted on doing this leg of the journey as independently as he could. 

“Alright. I’m guessing from the layout of Mordhaus and where we just came from that I’m heading in the right direction…… to my, ah, office?”

“Okay, I gotta ask… Do you live in your office? Cause that’s pretty fucked up. I’m just sayin.”

“No, not exactly. You’ll see.” Assuming the lack of answer meant he was on the right course, Charles walked boldly forward, lead by the gently tapping cane. The hallways of Mordhaus were wide and open, except for the occasional suit of armor or other decorative & brutal relic that was displayed along the wall. So Charles kept to what he felt was the middle of the hall. A passing Klokateer greeted them with “My Lords” and Charles nodded in reply. After walking in silence for a few minutes, while Charles found his stride with the cane, he then asked,

“Nathan, ah, how is the band doing with, ah, with all this?”

“You mean with you being kidnapped, coming back blind, and then leaving again to be assimilated into the Borg collective? They’re actually doing pretty good with it. But then they don’t know how brutal the fucking Borg are!”

“Oh my god,” Charles sighed, though amused by the reply. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be to avoid robot references now? Murderface is going to be seriously confused.” 

“Fuck Murderface.” Nathan replied casually.

“He’s not my type.” Charles quipped. 

“Huh??”

“Ah....” Charles stumbled on his reply, realizing that there were several ways to interpret what he probably should not have just said.

“I mean…,” he continued, “Ah… Well, so, everyone is, ah, doing well, then?”

If Nathan was aware that the conversation was being blatantly re-directed, and Charles was almost certain that he was, he didn’t protest. For this, Charles was grateful. He had never gotten into his personal life with the band, and now was not the right time to start. 

“Yeah. Things were a bit weird until we heard you made it out of surgery safely. Brain surgery you know, it’s kind of fucked up. Skwisgaar hasn’t been talking a lot to anyone, except Toki, and Toki’s been tagging along with anyone he can, doesn’t matter what they’re doing, he just wants to come. And he brings Deddy, everywhere! That bear nearly drowned in the hot tub the other day. Do you know how fucked up it feels to give mouth-to-mouth to a stuffed animal!? But it made Toki calm down. Pickles, well, he’s Pickles. He might have cut back on the booze a little, it’s hard to tell. Murderface is still doing his valiant bullshit, he talks like he’s the only one looking out for you and we’re all assholes. Where the fuck does he get off?”

Charles sighed again. “I know it can be, ah, hard to take his approach, but he’s really just dealing with it the only way he knows how. I think that once he starts to feel that things are somewhat getting back to, ah, to normal, he’ll be able to relax and get back to normal too. You all will.”

“Wait, what do you mean? I’m still normal, aren’t I?”

Your sudden interest in being my pal is not normal, Charles thought to himself. But replied only,

“Sure. Yes. Very normal,” and then he addled slyly, “for a closet-Trekkie..”

“Oh really? You know, I don’t think they’ve fed the wolves yet today... You’re coming with me…” But Charles was impressed when Nathan stopped short of grabbing him to mockingly steer him away towards the “wolves”. It showed a lot of sensitivity and restraint on the part of the singer, who usually followed things through to the end.

There were a few times where Charles would feel them arriving at a wall, and each time he tried to recall the layout of Mordhaus, and decide which way they needed to go. It was when he asked Nathan to confirm his choice, that he first learned that Nathan really didn’t know where they were either. A fine guide he was! Nathan defended that he at least hadn’t let Charles run into anything yet, which was true. So they found themselves making the necessary turns based on Charles’ recollection and intuition. One of the turns must have been wrong because at one point Nathan stopped and said,

“This painting of a medieval battle… haven’t we passed it before?”

“Oh, yes, I remember seeing that. What a great painting, the colors are so rich.” Charles deadpanned.

“Seriously! We are going in circles!”

“Hmmm…” Charles was starting to get a little concerned. “Do you remember which way we turned at the end of this hall?”

“What? No, well, maybe… Uh… I think …”

“Nathan. Do you or don’t you?” There was an edge to Charles’s voice. 

“Hey, don’t blame me okay, you’re the one deciding which way to turn and stuff.”

“You’re supposed to be here to help me make it back! If I’d known you didn’t know this area of Mordhaus… Wait, haven’t you gotten liver transplants in the medical wing before?”

“Oh, yeah, but I always just go… wait, okay, hold on, I know where to go now.” Charles could feel him stride confidently forward. 

“Follow me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

Charles didn’t even ask where they were going. The long walk was starting to take its toll on his post-surgery body. The task of trying to maintain a mental image of where they were, while interpreting information gained from the cane was staring to overwhelm him. Mordhaus had never seemed so large and so daunting. But Charles kept up, hoping they would reach their destination soon. Eventually, after a long, brisk walk, Nathan announced something.  
Not really registering Nathan’s comment, Charles breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way to the wall that the door was on, and felt for the palm-pad. He had found it and was about to unlock the door when Nathan interrupted,

“Do not tell me that you have access to our bedroom locking systems...”

“What? No, of course not. Why would I… Wait. Nathan, are we at your room?”

“Yes. Where else would I go after liver-transplant recovery? But I know how to get to your office from here, so we’re fine. I’m just going to grab something and I’ll be right back.”

“That’s fine. Actually, do you, ah, mind if I sit down for a minute?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Are you okay?” Nathan asked with concern. “Do you want me to call the doctors?”

“No. No. I just think I may have over-exerted myself with this, ah, extended walk. Those surgeons do such a good job you forget you’re still recovering...”

As Charles was saying this he heard Nathan open the door. The larger man then asked, “Do you want me to guide you to where you can sit?”

“Yes. Thank you. I, ah, just need a minute…” Charles felt Nathan take a gentle hold of his forearm and lead him forward. Soon they came to the edge of something and Nathan indicated for Charles to sit.

He found himself sinking slightly into the surface when he sat down. He felt out around his body and realized that he was sitting on the edge of a bed.

“Is this your bed?” Charles asked.

“Yeah. I don’t actually have any chairs lying around… Not big on sitting, I guess. Oh, but don’t worry, the groupies are all passed out on the other side of the bed.

“What?” Charles went to stand up again, and Nathan stopped him with a light hand.

“God, no, I’m kidding! There’s no one here but us. Seriously, groupies know to leave when the show’s over, if you know what I mean.”

Taking a deep breath, and only half listening, Charles sank back down on the bed. He set the still-unfolded cane next to him. Then, without even realizing it, he slipped off his glasses and massaged his brow and temples, careful to avoid the sonar devices.

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Nathan asked, approaching cautiously.

“Yes. I’m fine. Just a little headache… It’ll pass…”

“Do you want anything… uh, water, booze..?” Nathan trailed off, unsure what else he should offer.

“Ah, actually do you happen to have any brandy?” A little brandy-reunion was high on Charles’ list of things to do when he made it back to his own apartment, and he felt a few sips would take the edge off the pain he was feeling now.

“Brandy… yeah I think so… let me take a look…”

Charles heard Nathan’s footsteps receding and then what sounded like a heavy door being opened.

“Nathan?” he called out, suddenly a little uneasy with being left alone in this unknown space.

“Yeah, hey, I’m just looking for it….” The sound of glass bottles being shifted and clinked followed, and then suddenly Nathan exclaimed, “Yes! I found one! It’s…. it says Horse Age…? What the fuck? Should I grab another one?”

“Oh, that’s H’ors d’Age… It’s French. That’s good. Very good... Aged beyond what they were able to keep track of.”

“Well then Horse Brandy it is. There are these special glasses with it, they’re short and roundish…”

“Yes, that sounds right. Those are called snifters. Ah, how do you have all this stuff and not know what it is?”

“Oh, I had a booze chamber installed and fully stocked by the Gears,” came Nathan’s reply from some distance away. “It’s about the size of that hospital room you were in, maybe a bit bigger.”

Wow, thought Charles. How did he miss that in the expense report? The question was answered for him as Nathan spoke again.

“Got the idea from Pickles. The thing just got finished, like yesterday, I think. It’s pretty awesome!”

Well, at least he had brandy, Charles mused. 

As Nathan approached it occurred to Charles to ask, “So have you had Brandy before?”

“Huh? Oh I dunno. Yeah, probably!” Charles could hear the bottle being opened and then the rushed pouring of liquid. He stopped Nathan.

“Ah, there’s kind of an art to brandy… You want to pour it gently… it’s all part of the experience. And only about the bottom quarter of the glass…You might want to go easy at first. Do you want me to pour it?”

“What? Do I want a blind man pouring brandy on my bed? No. And okay, so you only want a little bit. But I’m having a full glass. Trust me, I can do alcohol.”   
Charles had to grin at Nathan’s stubbornness. 

“Are you, ah, standing directly in front of me?” Charles asked innocently, as Nathan handed him his glass. He cupped it in his palm and gently started swirling the brandy by moving the glass in a circular motion.

“Yeah, why?” 

“Oh, no reason,” Charles said, as he casually stood up and strode several feet away. He sniffed the warm, sweet vapors. This was very, very good brandy indeed. 

“Cheers,” Charles said, smiling slightly. 

“Drink up!” exclaimed Nathan before taking a huge gulp from his presumably full glass. Charles heard a slight squeal followed by the sound of liquid spraying mixed with gagging.

“Holy shit!! What is that stuff? Oh my god, it fucking burns!!!”

Charles couldn’t help but laugh. From his safe vantage point he had avoided getting hosed with brandy as the singer rapidly expelled his entire mouthful.

“So much for keeping the bed clean,” the CFO muttered. 

“You asshole! You knew this was gonna happen!”

“I had a hunch, and I tried to warn you…”

“You actually drink this stuff??? This shit is brutal!”

“Isn’t “brutal” a good thing?” Charles asked coyly, taking a second small sip. “Not all alcohol is meant to get you drunk fast. Some of it is meant to be savored. Appreciated.” He held the third sip in his mouth for an extra long time, tasting it’s sweet layers, feeling it’s smooth heat, before swallowing it and continuing. 

“Early American journalist Ambrose Bierce rightfully referred to brandy as ‘A cordial composed on one part thunder-and-lightening, one part remorse, two parts bloody murder, one part death-hell-and-the-grave and four parts clarified Satan’. So I would say perhaps the word “brutal” does indeed apply.”

“Oh my god,” Nathan muttered. Charles had moved around to another side of the bed and sat again when he found a dry place. 

“Ah, sorry about your bed there… But I really did try to warn you…”

He heard a muffled reply, and a moment later, “You’re right, this stuff is much better when “savored”, or whatever. I just did what you did earlier, swished it around, you know. It was pretty decent. But what kind of a buzz do you get from it?”

“I think you’ll find the buzz is quite nice. And not incapacitating either, if you don’t overdo it.”

“The boys are gonna dig this shit at the inauguration of my booze chamber tonight!! Thanks for introducing me to it.”

“Tonight? Oh, I should get going then…”

“No! You should stay and party with us! C’mon, pal around for once! Besides, they’re gonna show up like any minute now…”

“Ah, really… I should…” he started feeling around for his cane and realized it was a victim of the brandy drenching, as were his glasses.

“Drink!” ordered Nathan. “Oh and stand up for a sec.” Charles complied.

He then felt a rush of air from the bed as Nathan swooped the giant top blanket off, and presumably tossed it somewhere.

“There, whatever. The Gears will wash that one later. Oh, and just so you know, I’ve got your stuff. And the blanket is in the corner there… to the uh, right if you’re facing the door… which you are… not yet… look at where my voice is… okay now you’re facing the door. The blanket is in the corner on the right. So don’t trip on it. How’s that for making sure you don’t run into anything?” Charles could hear the grin in Nathan’s voice. He was surprised and moved by the singer’s sensitivity to the fact that he needed to keep tabs on potential tripping hazards in the environment around him.

“Great, ah, thank you very much. Do you have any other, ah, furniture I should be aware of?”

“I kind of have like a… kind of an office, I guess you’d call it, maybe… and that’s where there’s like a desk and chair, and books… For lyric writing and stuff… that’s off of the main room, so yeah, you won’t be running into that stuff. Other than that, you mean in here? There’s like the bed… a counter along the wall where the door is… the door to the booze chamber which is along the next wall… couple of side tables by the head of the bed, you might want to watch out for… I can move those if you want…”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just good to know. Ah, hey, I can still leave if you want, I don’t want to be a…buzz-kill or whatever the term is….”

“Oh my god. You are killing my buzz right now by wanting to bail so badly!! Chill with us! Sit down, there’s a dry blanket now, and I’m putting your stuff on the counter right next to the door, okay.”

“Ah…” He wasn’t sure that he wanted to be parted from the cane, which was his only means of independent navigation. But before he could protest there was a banging at the door.

“DOOOOD!” Charles heard as the door was opened and Pickles burst in. “It’s booooooze time!! Hey, Ahfdensen’s here! Sweet. How was the… oh hey, check you out….” He heard and felt Pickles approach and could sense he was being looked at. He stood up, wanting to appear confident and in control.

“Yes, the ah, the whole sonar system,” Charles reached up and ran a finger along one of the devices. “Might take a little getting used to…”

“Nah, it’s cool. Shit when Knubbler got his robotic eyes, that took some getting used to! This is… pretty subtle. How does it work?”

“Well I haven’t started using it yet, that needs to be done under supervision. It’s going to be a bit of a process of trial and error at first.”

“Yeah, I bet. But you’re good at shit, so you’ll be fiiiiine. Ooh, what’cha drinkin… is that brandy?? Nate’n! Brandy on the rocks!” The drummer leaned over and Charles. “That’s how they drink it in China. Learned this when I was Florida’s Ambassador to China… yeah, but that didn’t work out so good…”

Saving Charles from having to reply was another knock on the door, followed by several pairs of feet shuffling in.

“I ams such ones readys-to-gets drunks guy!” exclaimed Toki, followed by Skwisgaar’s “Jah! Hey Nathans, hey Pickle. Oh hey Charles! I see yous have already met with da booze chambers! I ams wanting da Jager, ons da rocks!”

“Me toos!” echoed Toki.

“Hey,” Charles heard Nathan shout, “We need a bar tender that is not me!” 

“I can take care of that, actually,” Charles replied, and activated the communication device on his watch. “I need a Klokateer that is trained in the, ah, art of mixing drinks, to Nathan’s room, asap.”

“Right away, sire,” came the reply.

“Wowee!” exclaimed Toki. “If I gets blinds do I gets da talking watch too??”

“What? Ah, no, I mean… first of all, you are not going to go blind, Toki. Don’t even say that. And the watch… No, it’s more of a business thing. I’ve actually had it since before… I’ve had it for a long time.”

“That’s one watch that might be worth not destroying,” Pickles mused. Charles recalled how certain members of the band enjoyed smashing lamps and watches.

Just then there was another knock on the door and the final member of the band entered, followed closely by a Gear.

“Alright, I’m here, it’sch time to get thisch party schtarted!!”

“My Lord,” the Gear called out, clearly to Charles. “I am Number 403 and I am an expert in alcoholic beverage preparation & presentation.”  
“Very good. I have a feeling presentation won’t be necessary though. Nathan will tell you where to go,” he indicated to where he hoped Nathan still was.   
“Charlesh!! You’re back! Yikesch, your robot partsch are schowing!”

“Good to see you too, William,” he said with less patience than he would have liked.

“Wow, I gotta get a closcher look…”Charles could hear Murderface approaching, his voice rising with interest. 

“Ah, alright,” came the manager’s tentative reply, “Just don’t touch anything please…”

“Scho you’re like a Pschyborg now?”

“No. I am not a cyborg, or a robot for that matter. Now might be a good time to, ah, dispel any further robot notions,” seeing as I have a drink in my hand, thought Charles. He took another sip and stepped carefully back towards the bed, feeling the edge with his leg. Then he sat down and felt Murderface sit next to him.

“Scho…” Murderface leaned over and whispered. “What’sch it like… being a robot?”

Charles let out a huge sigh. “It’s awesome. Okay. Being a robot is…great… really great. You should try it actually. Next question.”

“NO MORE QUESTIONS ABOUT ROBOTS, ASSHOLE!” Nathan yelled over to Murderface. Charles had to smile. He felt Murderface lean into him again.

“Are these dicksch giving you a hard time, becausche if they are, you juscht let me know and I will perschonally take care of it!”

“No. They are not. You know, you don’t have a drink yet do you? That’s what this event is all about right. So you should go get one. Now. Go get a drink. Go. Now.”

“Holy schit, you’re right, what kind of party isch thisch if I’m not drinking! I will schee you later!”

Charles felt the bass-player leave and he breathed a sigh of relief. He stood up and turned towards where the majority of the noise in the room was coming from… he guessed it was the “booze chamber”.

“Charles!” Nathan called out. “You need another drink!” It wasn’t a question. “What’ll it be… you can’t drink the same stuff twice tonight so pick something different!”  
A rhyme from college flashed through Charles’s head. Beer than Liquor, never sicker. Liquor than Beer, You’re in the clear.

“Ah, what kinds of beer do you have in there?”

“Get over here and see! Hold on…” Charles heard Nathan approaching. 

“Seriously, you have to check out the booze chamber!” He grabbed Charles by the forearm and carefully but quickly lead him across the room. Charles stumbled on an empty bottle at one point and had to grab hold of Nathan to right himself.   
“Who is dropping shit in the middle of the floor?” Nathan bellowed. “If you’re gonna drop shit, drop it in a corner or something. People are walking here!”

“Aww, my bad, dood,” Pickles called back. “Sahrry Charles!!!”

“It’s, ah, it’s okay,” Charles replied still shaken from the near-fall. 

“They’ll learn,” Nathan said quietly to him, as he reduced their pace. They’ll learn what, Charles wondered. Not to drop empties on the floor when Charles was attending their drinking parties? Since when was he on the guest list anyway? He had just happened to be here today… 

Soon he felt Nathan stop him and realized that they were at the doorway of the so-called booze chamber. Nathan took Charles gently by the shoulders and slowly guided him forward. “Small step down,” Nathan whispered. “Right now.”

Bracing himself with one hand against the doorframe, he felt for the drop with his foot. Then, knowing what to expect, he carefully stepped down and into the chamber. It was noticeably cooler once he entered the room, despite the door being open. The smell was that of alcohol alright, but that was probably due to the various open drinks everyone seemed to be enjoying.

“Okay, guys, we gotta describe this to Charles, because it is like, so awesome.”

“Oh dood! It’s almost as big the one I have! So Charles, it’s like…. How big would you say it is guys?”

“It ams like as big as, uh, the Dethbus. And there ams millions of bottles of da alcohol all over. It ams a beautiful thing,” Skwisgaar supplied.

“May I…?” Charles asked Nathan, indicating that he’d like to “look” around.

“Yeah, have at it. I’ll give you the verbal tour”

Charles rested his hand on one of the smooth wooden shelving units that seemed to take up the entire height of the wall, as far as he could tell. There were various rows and each bottle seemed to be nestled in its own place. Running a hand along the smooth shelf edge Charles stepped forward cautiously and then started slowly walking. Nathan would call out the “section” he was in. They had started off with the wines, whose section also contained an assortment of wine glasses. Next there were some liqueurs, which Nathan had to defend as being only the most metal of all liqueurs, and then Charles moved to where Nathan said he had found the brandy. Reaching out, he touched one of the glass bottles, and then the one next to it. He wondered if he was familiar with these particular types. For all he knew it could be one of his favorites, whose bottle characteristics he had only ever learned visually. But now he was limited to this more intimate experience. This though, at least as far as brandy went, may not be so bad. Hadn’t he just been preaching about the appropriate way to appreciate such a fine drink? He realized, with somewhat of a start, that maybe the lesson extended to more important things in life as well.

This thought was interrupted by Nathan. “Okay, no more brandy, remember. Different drinks, all night. We have a lot to dig into here!”

“Right,” agreed Charles, continued his way down the chamber. He passed the Scotch, Whisky and Bourbon sections. He came to the end of the wall and then continued back up the opposite side. Passing a large section of Vodkas, and Rums he then found himself back at the top of the room, surrounded by various bottled beers, appropriately chilled by the specialized shelves. Noticeably absent, at least according to Nathan’s description, was any type of Tequila. 

“I know, Charles, you pick one. Feel it out. Then you’ll know how to identify it… You know. Isn’t this what that therapist teaches?”

“How to identify beer by feel? Not exactly…”

“Well it should be! Grab one, you know, whichever one is you know, calling to you,”

Charles shot Nathan a sightless glance. He had never heard the singer get so ethereal before.

“Okay, here goes…” He felt several of the cold bottles.

“Use the force!” yelled Pickles. This made Charles laugh, and he settled on the bottle he happened to be touching. Nathan took it and opened it, then handed it back to Charles.

“Okay, so Star Wars is cool but not… other sci-fi series?” 

“What? No, everything is cool when you’re at a boooooze-chamber inauguration!” Pickles was clearly beyond his first drink, and had probably shown up with drunk to begin with. Which might have lead to what he obviously thought was an amazing idea. “Omigahd! Charles, Dood, use the force to pick out my next drink! Seriously. It’ll be awesome. Whatever you pick, I will drink it.”

“So much responsibility… I’m not sure I can handle it,” Charles joked. But Pickles insisted.

“Use the forrrrrrce!! Use it! And keep drinking too!”

“Yes, sir,” Charles replied, taking several deep swigs of the beer. It was smooth and stout. Once again, he made his way along the shelved wall. Now he had somewhat of an idea of where things were. 

He picked a random wine for Pickles, which turned out to be an expensive Chardonnay. Then he got a request from Skwisgaar, so he picked out something from the Vodkas, to follow the Swede’s previous drink of Jager Meister. And on his way back, he grabbed another bottle, randomly, for whoever was next. He now had both hands full, holding the bottles by the necks, but, perhaps because of the over-confidence that resulted from drinking, he boldly strode back up the aisle to where the band members were. He was grateful when Nathan reached out to let him know that he had reached them.

“Oh I’ll take that schecond one!” exclaimed Murderface, grabbing one of the bottles. “Ooh, Schouthern Comfort… Hell Yeah!”

“Sire,” came the voice of their Gear bartender. Charles hadn’t realized that there was a bar setup in the corner across from where they were congregated. Holding the two bottles, as well as his beer, he strode towards the Gear’s voice, allowing the bar to stop him. He carefully placed all the bottles on the bar-top and then grabbed his beer and chugged the rest of it down.

This prompted hoots and hollers from the boys. “I will have one of whatever you’re pouring next,” Charles said to the bartender. “Don’t even tell me what it is.” He grinned, and proceeded to knock back the glass that was handed to him, followed, to the delight of the band, by several more. This continued for a while until they gradually filtered out of the booze-chamber, and let the Gear go, each having settled on a bottle of their own to nurse into the night. Charles was back to the original brandy, as the rule of not drinking the same thing twice had long been forgotten. Carrying his open bottle of brandy, he followed Nathan clumsily, grasping the large man’s shirt. As they approached the corner where the blanket had been tossed, neither man was thinking about its tripping potential. So it came as a shock to both of them when Charles got a foot snagged in the edge of the giant blanket, and toppled over into the pile. Trying to hold the bottle upright with one hand, while not actually knowing what upright was, he gripped Nathan’s tee-shirt tightly with the other. There was a loud ripping sound and Charles found himself in the blanket pile with a partly empty bottle of brandy in one hand and a piece of Nathan’s shirt in the other. It was too much. Grinning, he held up the piece of cloth without getting up from the blanket pile. 

“Shit. I think this is yours.” He couldn’t help cracking up, and heard a roar of laughter coming from Nathan’s direction too.

“Oh my gawd, you guys, keep yer clothes ahn!” Pickles called from across the room, with obvious delight.

“What ams we missing?” enquired Skwisgaar, as he emerged from the booze chamber, with Toki in tow.

“Oh, just Ahfdensen on the floor with half of Nathan’s shirt in his hand!”

“What’sch going on here!? Ish thisch a schituaschion where interventshion isch required??” Murderface assumed his fire-drill attitude.

“No! It’s fine, totally fine. Everything is under, ah, under control. Yes.” Charles laughed, taking another long sip from the open bottle before placing it on the floor.

“But thank you. I, ah, think I’ll just stay here for a while. It’s comfortable, and it smells like brandy. Very good brandy.” He smiled and closed his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

Darkness, pierced by sparks of hot light. Damp basement. Acrid smoke. The smell of metal, mildew and blood. A new light appears in the distance- white and artificial. The form of a face approaches. Not a face. A Mask. And all goes dark… 

Charles bolted up from the nightmare and had to suppress a wave of nausea. For a second he panicked upon opening his eyes to darkness, but was quick to recall, as he did every morning, that this was the way it now was. Unfamiliar, however, were the blankets that surrounded him and the slightly musky odor of sweat and alcohol that clung to the air. He wasn’t in his own bed. 

“Hello?” he called out softly. Even at a whisper, the sound of his voice was grating and he winced as the pounding in his head grew stronger. He looked around uselessly, then grasped at the bedding that he knew was not his own. Where was he and how did he end up here? Why was it all so fuzzy? He could kill for a glass of water. He strained to recall where he had gone to sleep last night. A cold chill went through his body. Had he been captured again? What would they do to him this time… what more would they take from him? Panic seized him, and he quickly got onto his knees, into a position that he could spring from if he needed to move fast. But where would he go? He felt out on either side of him and couldn’t feel an edge to the bed he was on. Suddenly it occurred to him- was he being watched? He stood very still, held his breath and listened. He could hear no other breathing, but thought he heard the sound of running water, coming from beyond this room.  
Slowly and as quietly as he could, he crawled over the blankets. He would do well to get off this giant bed. Giant bed. That seemed to almost trigger a memory, but it was swallowed up by the pain and grogginess before its significance could be recalled. He reached what seemed to be the edge of the bed, and, as his feet hit the cold floor another realization came to him. He was fully dressed, in his usual suit, but his tie had been loosened and his shoes removed. Suddenly the sound of running water stopped and was replaced by some quiet unidentifiable noises. Charles stood upright. Why did it feel like his head was in a vice? He stumbled forward, hand out in front of him, until he felt a wall. He was about to start following the wall to try and find an exit when he heard a door open and someone enter the large room he was in. Poising lightly on the balls of his feet he turned towards the person, ready for anything.

“Well look who’s finally alive? I was about to contact the morgue and have you picked up. Guess you don’t pass out drunk too often though, do you?”

“Nathan?” Charles asked, not needing an answer. Nathan’s voice was unmistakable. “I passed out drunk? Where am I? And what are you…” 

Oh my god. Several possible scenarios rapidly flashed through Charles’s hung-over mind. He needed to tread carefully here until he figured out what had really happened. He had to admit, as potentially awkward as this situation might be, he was immensely relieved at the casual tone of Nathan’s voice, telling him that he wasn’t in any danger, wherever he was. 

“Wow, total blackout, huh? Not surprised. You were on fire last night!”

“Ah, I was… ah, on fire?” 

“Well, no, I mean, not literally! But, yeah, man, you can knock ‘em back. Oh hey, this might help refresh your memory…” Charles heard him approach. “Here… “Hair of the dog…” Nathan said. Charles reached out to accept the open and mostly empty bottle of brandy.

The sweet aroma jogged his memory just enough for him to recall that he had been with the band… in Nathan’s room… The booze-chamber party.

“Wait, so that was your bed…” That explained the size. “And, ah…. Why was I, ah, in…”

“Well I felt kind of bad leaving you on the floor where you passed out last night. It’s a big bed, it’s not like you’re the first guy that’s ever shared it with me.”

“Ah, really??” Charles inquired, all other questions pushed aside.

“Well yeah, I mean, Pickles was passed out on that corner last night… and this morning I wake up to find fuckin’ Skwisgaar spooning Toki and Toki spooning Deddy Bear, right over there… uh… other corner of the bed. I don’t know what the fuck happened to Murderface, but there’s like four bottles of Southern Comfort missing so I think I can guess where that went. 

“Ohhhh. Right. Well, ah, where is everyone this morning?” 

“Morning? Charles, it’s like 3pm. But don’t feel bad, you really probably really needed to sleep. And that meeting you were supposed to have with the therapists, they called in on your watch… I said you’d reschedule. It’s all taken care of.”

“Nathan, why didn’t you wake me?! Where are my shoes?? I need to get going. God! I had a schedule!”

“Well one, because you were out cold and two, I took them off before moving you into the bed because, uh, people don’t normally sleep with shoes on. Although I’m starting to think that you usually sleep in a suit and tie. Do you even know or care that it’s Sunday today??”

“I just woke up from a nightmare and didn’t know where the hell I was or how I got here, or why my head felt like it was going to explode, so no, I have to say, I was not aware of what day the week it was!” Charles cupped a hand over his throbbing brow. It was then that he realized he wasn’t wearing the sonar devices.  
“Did you take them off too!?” he fumed. “Jesus Christ! I don’t need you to cancel my meetings, undress me and put me to bed! Did I ask for your help??”

There was a pause, and then Nathan replied, with a sliver of hurt in his voice.

“No, Charles, you didn’t ask for it. You didn’t ask for it because you don’t need it, because you’re smart and you get stuff done and this blindness shit is just some tiny road block on your path to… whatever the hell it is that you actually want! So don’t let me stop you. Your stuff is all by the door. I’ll see you at the next meeting or whatever.”

But Charles just turned away. After a few deep breaths he turned back, his sightless hazel eyes glistening slightly. 

“I don’t know what I want anymore, Nathan. But do know that I don’t want my problems to be your problems. I shouldn’t have let you get so involved with… with my life right now. It’s not fair to drag you into all this.” He started making his way towards the door, one hand brushing the wall as he went. 

“You didn’t drag me in to anything. Were you even listening to what I just said!? C’mon, stop. Stop and look at me.” 

Charles whipped around and wanted nothing more than to glare at Nathan. “How dare you!?”

“How dare I what, speak English? The language didn’t change when you went blind so don’t expect me to change the way I talk. It’s hard enough to get the damn words out!” 

Charles raised an eyebrow but resumed walking, his outstretched hand reaching towards the countertop next to the door. When he connected with it, he felt with a foot for his shoes, and bent to put them on.

Nathan continued, “Look, I know you’re better than me at, like, probably everything that isn’t singing in Dethklok, but then shit happens and then I have one thing that I can maybe offer you. Offer, cause I know you’d never ask for it. Cause I’m sure you don’t need it- you’d find a way, you always do. But I want to help. Because when you were gone, when we thought you were dead for nine months, guess what? We were fucked! Because we needed you. So why is it so hard for you to need us too?”

Charles silently stood and felt on the counter, grasping the two sonar devices and placing them in a pocket. He then took the cane, which Nathan had folded, snapped it back together and turned back to the singer.  
“Nathan,” he paused, and took a breath. “We can, ah, talk more about this later, but what I need, right now, is to just keep doing my job.” He found his folded glasses and slipped them on with one hand, then turned back to the singer. 

“I will see you at tomorrow’s band meeting, okay?” and with that, he opened the door and left, ignoring Nathan’s soft, wounded reply. 

“No you won’t. But I’ll be there.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

Shutting the door behind him, Charles paused, and then sank against the wall of the hallway. It wasn’t the first time he had excused himself from a conversation with one of the band members. But it was first time that he felt like maybe he had just walked out on a friend. It was also the first time, since his injury, that he was tackling the halls of Mordhaus alone.

He brought up a mental picture of the fortresses layout. He was familiar with the locations of the boys’ rooms in relation to other places he frequented. He knew he could always summon help through his watch, if he needed it, but he felt a strong urge to try it on his own first, especially after the day’s earlier events had left him feeling insufficient by his own standards. Charles straightened his slept-in jacket, tightened his tie, turned in what he hoped was the correct direction, and set off.  
The walk was uneventful for some time. He started to count his steps, and realized that many of the hallways were similar lengths. This was about the only consistency in the construction of Mordhaus, and it was one he had never realized, but found himself grateful for now. He knew better than to rely on it, though, lest he find himself in a shorter hallway. He didn’t feel like showing up at tomorrow’s band meeting with a broken nose from having gotten up close and personal with the wall. But he also had the cane for that. 

Part way through his trek he heard footsteps approach. He knew that whoever it was would be accommodating and walk around him, but seeing as he was taking up what he figured was the middle of the hall, he moved over slightly. As the footsteps approached, he heard the deep voice of a Klokateer greet him. 

“My Lord.” A slight pause and then, “Do you require any assistance?”

Charles had to hold back his annoyance, as he stopped and turned to the other man. Can’t you see that I am doing fine? …Aren’t I?

“No. Ah, thank you. But, ah, can you confirm our location?” he asked, suddenly feeling his confidence sliding.

The Klokateer described the area where they were, which, it turned out, was precisely where he thought he had been. He made a conscious effort not to smile, though he was surprised at the feeling of accomplishment that washed over him. Who would have ever thought that he, Charles Foster Ofdensen, would revel in the simple task of being able to find his way home? But at this moment it was right up there with negotiating a challenging contract or saving the boys, once again, from themselves.

He thanked the Klokateer, and continued on his way. Now he knew he had just two more turns to go. Before he knew it he had reached the approximate location of his office door. Making his way towards the wall he reached out and felt around for the palm-scanner. Just as he located it, the door swung open. He stumbled back a step and felt a slight hand grasp his forearm. The owner of the hand must have sensed that Charles was about to react defensively because no sooner than he had regained his balance, he was released and a female voice startled him again. 

“Oh my god, Charles! I didn’t know you’d be coming back so soon. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my office??” Charles exclaimed with irritation.

“It’s Abigail. Abigail Remeltindtdrinc. How are you? It’s good to see you.”

“Well seeing as I can’t actually say likewise, plus my office appears to have been broken into, I am not well, thank you.”

“Cornickleson hasn’t mentioned this?? Dammit. I’m really sorry… I’ve just been helping out with some managerial stuff in your absence. Simple, day-to-day things, to help keep the operation running smoothly. I thought Roy had talked to you about it… I certainly don’t mean to step on your toes, or surprise you like this!”  
“No, Roy has not said anything about it. Why don’t you join me back inside- I don’t think we should be having this conversation in the hall.”

“Of course, we’ll join you.” Abigail said compliantly.

“We? I would appreciate knowing who else is participating in this conversation,” Charles said, clearly irritated.

“Both Crystal Mountain and Mordahaus have assigned security guards to ensure that I don’t do or see anything I’m not supposed to while I’m gathering what I need to keep up on things here. You run a tight ship, Charles. I applaud that.”

“Sire, we can assure you, Miss Remeltindtdrinc has been under watch while in your office. She does not appear to be a security issue” came a voice, presumably from the Mordhaus guard.

“Like I said,” Abigail continued, “Tight ship. Shall we?”

“Yes, but the guards won’t be necessary.” Charles wasn’t even sure where the second one was, but he turned to the Gear and instructed,

“Please wait here until we figure this out.”

“Yes, my Lord,” came the obedient reply.

Abigail held the door open allowing Charles to enter first. He turned slightly and headed to his desk, to the left of the door. He felt the edge with his cane, and made his way around it to the plush office chair, where he sat.

“Have a seat,” he instructed Abigail, “and then tell me exactly what’s going on here.”

“Okay. When I heard what had happened to you, I contacted Roy Cornickleson to offer any help that I could while you… adjusted. We all knew you’d end up back in the saddle- there was very little doubt about that. But I know there are daily tasks that needed to be kept up on, and Roy told me that Dethklok nearly managed themselves into the grave when you were previously absent, so he allowed me to temporarily take on some of these responsibilities. No decisions or anything, of course, just keeping things in order. 

“And why was I not told of this?” Charles asked abrasively. 

“That was a misunderstanding, believe me. Now that I think about it, I can see what probably happened. I had asked Roy to keep knowledge of my presence to a minimum, basically, to um, avoid any awkwardness with the band… If you, um, know what I mean…” she trailed off uneasily. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you though!” she added. “It’s possible that Cornickleson just wanted to spare you from thoughts of work while you were recovering and adjusting. I know it’s a very difficult process…”

“Do you?” Charles inquired, intentionally putting her on the spot.

“Actually, yes, I do,” she shot back evenly. “My brother went blind in a car accident. Around 6 years ago. So when I heard what had happened, well, I wanted to see if I could help in any way.”

“Oh.” Charles wasn’t sure what to say. So he changed the subject. “Am I to understand that you worked in management before you became a Producer? The two jobs are very different.”

“Yeah, I bounced around in the music industry a bit before I found my calling. And, Charles, I’m not here to take your job, or even do it. I’m just here to lend a hand for the time-being.”

“Does the band know that there’s another person on payroll?”

“What? No. I’m here on my own time, Charles. I feel I owe it to the band, and to you. At this point, even after what happened to that album, I am in such high demand for even having associated with Dethklok that people are practically killing each other over who I work with next. I need to take some time to let the fervor die down. It’s crazy out there. And there’s something about this band, Charles, I know you know… it just draws you in.” 

“That’s true. That’s very true. But I’m on the mend now, so to speak, and, ah, I intend to get back to work as soon as possible so, while you’re welcome to stay…”

“Charles,” she gently cut him off. He stopped, somewhat defeated. He knew what was coming next, but also knew that she was right. After all, she had experienced the long-term of this kind of recovery. But he still didn’t want to hear it. He swiveled around in the office chair to face the window behind him and recalled how he used to gaze out into the wilderness surrounding Mordhaus, when he wanted a brief reprieve from the rigors of his day.

“I’m sorry Charles. I’m so sorry. What happened to you… It’s not fair. It never is.” 

He hadn’t expected that. Slowly, she continued.

“I’m no doctor, or therapist. But I know that… Well, it really takes time, Charles. My brother, Anthony, was in college when he was injured. He was so tough and he just wanted to fight his way through it as if nothing had happened. And he ended up isolating himself from the people who loved him and alienating those that tried to help him. It took a failed suicide attempt to wake him up to the fact that he never really took the time to learn how to cope mentally. I know you are not him and I know they now make all this new adaptive technology, which is really great. But, it goes beyond just getting by on a physical level. Please, Charles, from someone who’s seen this before, don’t try to rush things so much that you get lost inside yourself. And know that there is nothing weak about accepting help…” She trailed off.

Slowly, Charles swiveled back to face her.

“How is Anthony now?” 

“He’s doing really well. He completed his degree after a few years, is working, and he just got engaged.” Charles could hear the smile in her voice.

“That’s good.” He paused. “Abigail… ah… thank you for sharing your brother’s story. I’m glad he’s doing well and has learned to , ah, cope. I, ah… I actually just had a somewhat similarly themed conversation with Nathan before I came back here, which, ah, didn’t end as well. It seems there is no shortage of people wanting to, ah, help me through this. I will keep what you said in mind. It’s actually nice to talk to someone who is aware of how... consuming this really is. Sometimes I feel like I have to play it down for the boys. I don’t want them to worry about their future, you know.”

“Are you sure you’re doing it for them and not for you?” Abigail asked delicately.

Charles just sighed. “Okay. Maybe I just don’t want them to know how damn hard this is.”

“Why not?” 

“So what, you’re an acclaimed Producer, with supposed business management skills, and you’re also a Shrink?”

Abigail laughed. Charles had to crack a smile too. 

“Okay, no more introspection!” she conceded. “Hey, you know as well as I do that there’s a huge psychological aspect to both our jobs, but I’ll drop it now.”

Charles appreciated her insights, but was happy to change the subject again.

“So, ah, the boys don’t know you’re here?”

“Not as far as I know. I do need to reconnect with them eventually.”

“Why don’t you join me at our band meeting tomorrow? They can find out then.”

“I guess that’s as good a time as any. I will be there. Oh hey, I had come to drop off some papers that need to be signed. Nothing too urgent. But, umm, how do you want to do this?”

“Well I’m certainly not going to sign anything I haven’t read. Let me give Roy a call, confirm your story, and then tomorrow after the meeting we can deal with getting those signed. And Knubbler gets back from his post-album drug & alcohol binge in a few days.”

“Ha! Is that what he referred to as his “vacation?”

“Yes, that would be it. I’d like to meet with the two of you regarding thoughts about the next album. I’ll talk to Roy about getting you back on payroll for as long as you want to stay. And Abigail, welcome back.” He reached out in her direction. She got up, approached the desk and then Charles felt her firm grip, as they shook hands.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

The next day Charles arrived to the band meeting ahead of schedule and got settled before anyone else showed up. The earliness was becoming a habit. He’d rather wait alone at his destination than walk in on others who would likely stare as he made his way to his place at the table, still somewhat awkwardly. Soon after he was seated the door opened and someone walked in and took a seat.

“Nathan, you’re here early.” Charles observed.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Well, I can recognize you by your footsteps, and, as you got closer, your scent. We did share a bed after all. Were you trying to slip past me?”

Nathan didn’t reply. 

“Look, Nathan, I, ah…” 

He was interrupted by Nathan loudly bolting up from his chair.

“Abigail!?”

“Hello Nathan…” was her tentative reply. Charles decided to intervene.

“Nathan, Abigail is going to be with Dethklok again for a while helping out while I, ah, get back in the game.”

“Ohhh, so her help is okay. I see how it is.” The implication of his tone was clear.

“If you are suggesting that I seek anything other than a professional relationship with Miss Remeltintdrinc you are simply wrong.” Charles could now hear the other band members start trickling in.

“Hey, it’s Abigails! How ams you doings?”

“What ams you doings? I thoughts you was dones with Dethklok.”

“Well, Toki, Skwisgaar, I’m back to assist with the business side of things for a while.”

“Dood, that’s awesome!” Charles heard Pickles exclaim as he entered, having just caught the tail-end of the conversation.

“Is it?” Charles asked, turning towards Pickles. “I mean, is this going to be a problem between, ah, band members?” He turned back to Nathan, who seemed to have sat back down.

“No,” Nathan replied immediately. He took an over-dramatic breath and then continued. “Abigail, as hard as it is for me to say, Pickles and I have decided together that it’s best for the band if neither one of us is in a relationship with you. Even before we knew you were here. Because if the band falls apart, we’re not in a metal band anymore and that’s just totally not Metal. So, Abigail, I’m sorry… but it’s over.”

“Oh! Uh, great! I mean, well, if it has to be that way, for the best interest of the band. Bros before hoes, right? I totally respect your decision.” She sounded to Charles as if a huge weight had been listed off her shoulders, and he wondered if she was trying not to smile.

“Did I juscht hear that Abigail isch back and isch available??” Muderface had entered mid-conversation.

“No! I mean, yes, she’s back, but she is not available! To any of us. Those are the rules.” Nathan bellowed. “Right Charles?” he added accusingly.

“Nathan, I can assure you, that is not going to be a problem. Moving on…”

“How’sch your lazher schtuff going?” Murderface interrupted.

“What? Oh, no, Murderface, it’s sonar, not laser, and, it’s ah, it’s going to take some getting used to.”

This was an understatement. 

He recalled his first session using the devices. It had been yesterday, after his meeting with Abigail. At his request, his therapist met him at his private gym. It was connected to his apartment, but also reachable from the halls of Mordhaus, if you were given access. He was much more comfortable in this location, where he used to unwind from frustrating days in the office with strenuous physical training. He had done very little in this room since his injury, but it gave him a little confidence just to be back in the space. That confidence was dashed, however, as he was instructed, for the first time, to activate the devices.

The therapist had guided him into the center of the room and turned him to face where he knew a punching-bag hung. He could have located it alone, he had assured himself, but that wasn’t what the lesson was about so he let it go. “Now visualize a calming scene- maybe something from nature. This is so the new feedback won’t be as shocking to your mind.” Miriam’s voice was kind and confident. He had started address her by her name, as it just felt wrong to keep referring to her by her Gear Number when she was playing such an intimate role in his life. He imagined the view from his office window.

“Ready?” she asked. He nodded. She verbally guided him to turn a tiny dial on the device attached to his right temple until it locked into place. “There,” she said, as he felt it lock. “That was the safety. You can turn them on now. Slowly.” He reached up and slowly turned the dial, keeping the forest scene in his mind. Immediately the image in his mind’s eye altered, as if a new image was appearing over his mental picture.

Miriam must have seen his face react to the change. “Keep your initial image in your mind, and gradually switch your focus to the new image. There’s no need to rush. When you feel ready, abandon the original image and tell me about this new image that you perceive.”

He tried but found he couldn’t make out any details- it seemed impossible to describe. “It’s…. it’s space, and shades, and… how is this supposed to mean anything?” Frustration and disappointment filled him. He instantly preferred the nothingness he normally “saw” – it was simple, cleaner and made more sense to him than this.  
Charles thought he heard Miriam sigh quietly, and the usual cheerfulness in her voice seemed slightly forced as she explained, 

“There’s no easy way to interpret the sonar images. It’s going to take a lot of time and a lot of practice. Right now we just have to set up scenarios where you know what is there, and allow you to learn how to interpret the corresponding image. You’re facing two walls that form a corner with an object suspended in front of it. So for now, try focusing on seeing if you can distinguish the object from the walls, based on the sonar feedback.”

Charles tried hard to make sense of the image for what felt like forever. Eventually, in frustration, he abruptly reached up switched the devices off. The sudden absence of the feedback made him wince.

“Easy,” she cautioned, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Next time, dial it down slowly. Why did you turn it off?”

Charles swallowed hard, feeling completely defeated. He didn’t answer.

“This was just the first time. It will get easier,” the therapist said comfortingly.

“Is that a fact?” 

Miriam hesitated. “This particular technology is very new, but the concept that it’s based on is not. Some people who have been blind from a young age have learned to use sound-based eco-location to judge the proximity of objects. We’re just takes that one step further by transmitting the information to your brain in a way you can interpret visually because that is what would come most naturally to you, at this point in your life. We have a solid and reliable team working on this, researching the use of sonar in all its natural forms. I am anticipating that, with frequent practice, you will be able learn to interpret the sonar images in a way that you can make sense of, because, believe it or not, your mind already knows how to do this. It’s like learning a foreign alphabet. The symbols mean nothing at first, but once you learn them they can be used to form countless different meanings.” 

“Does this kind of perception occur frequently in nature?” Biology and Ecology weren’t the CFO’s strong suites. 

“Somewhat. In developing this program for you, we’re trying to glean what we can from studies of several species of eco-locating mammals including dolphin and whales, but it’s all interpretable, as no one can actually talk to the animals themselves….”

“Charles?”

Hearing his name snapped him out of his recollection. He turned towards Abigail’s voice.

“Yes, I’m sorry… Just lost in thought for a moment.” He turned back and tried to gage the mood of the table by listening.

There seemed to be an unusual amount of focus in the room. He wondered if that was because the band was giving him a break as they knew he was still adjusting, or if it was Abigail’s presence that quieted them. Either way, it was appreciated.

“Dick Knubbler is coming back today, and it’s time to start thinking about the next album.” He stated to get things rolling.

This was met with a series of groans. 

“Hey, you and Knubbler can talk about robot thingsch now!” Murdeface exclaimed, somewhat in awe.

“Yes, I’m sure we’ll do that.” Charles replied patiently. He knew he actually should have a personal talk with Knubbler, who, despite his robotic eyes, had still experienced blindness. He hoped the Producer was going to be semi-sober upon his return to work.

The meeting proceeded as normal, peppered with random thoughts about a topic Murderface brought up out of the blue- the best way to tenderize meat: machine-gun or hand-grenade. 

Just as it was winding to a close (and machine-gun was declared the winner, by everyone except an annoyed Toki) Nathan cleared his throat and announced, 

“We have something for you, Charles.”

“Oh?” This was a surprise.

“Pickles, give it to him!”

“Murderface has it, dood!”

“Murderface, give it to him!”

“Here Charlesch, from all of usch.” Charles heard something slide down the table towards him. He stood up, reactively, and reached out towards the sound, grabbing the object as it came close.

“Muderface, what the fuck? He can’t see it coming!” Nathan yelled.

“Well he caught it, so what’sch the big deal??”

Charles cleared his throat, and the bickering died down to a grumble. He felt what was in his hands. It seemed to be another cane, neatly folded.

“It’s black!!” Nathan exclaimed excitedly as Charles examined it. “It is the most Metal cane-thing ever!”

“And it’s ams undestructables!” Skwisgaar added proudly. “That ams what the Science guys tells us.”

“Well, maybe if you melted it in a volcano or schomething, and then blew it up…”

“Withs a grenade!” Toki insisted.

As Muderface and Toki bantered back and forth about the cane’s destruction, Charles unfolded it and felt along its length. It was very light but felt sturdy. He stood up and held it in position. It was the same size as his old one, but somehow felt more modern.

“And it’s, ah, black, you say?”

“Blacker than the blackest night times infinity.”

Charles looked up towards Nathan and grinned. He turned back to the group, still smiling.

“Guys, ah, thank you very much. This means a lot to me.” Charles said, and he meant it. 

“What a nice gift,” Abigail observed. “It looks quite distinguished.”

Charles imagined that it would, at least for a blind-cane. 

The band started to file out, as Charles collected his old cane, which lay folded on the table, and slid it into a special deep breast-pocket on the inside of his tailored suit-jacket. 

As he heard Nathan approach he stopped the larger man.

“Nathan. There’s something I need to talk to you about. Something that only you can assist me with.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. And actually, if you’re offering, why don’t you join Abigail and I in my office- I’d like a second set of eyes to read over these forms I have to sign. No offense, Abigail, I just can’t be too careful.”

“None taken,” she replied lightly.

“Okay, I’ll come.” Nathan agreed. 

And the three of them silently headed towards the conference room door, lead by the man with the black cane.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

They arrived to a pile of business contracts regarding Dethklok appearances and merchandise. The steady trail of paperwork did not put itself on hold, even for life-changing emergencies. So the CFO had a significant amount of catching up to do. In Charles’s absence, Abigail had made sure that anything urgent had been taken care of, with Cornickleson at the helm, but there remained contracts for future deals, to which Charles wanted attend to personally. He had business relationships to maintain. Though the thought made him more nervous than he would ever admit, he knew he needed to reconnect with certain key-players in the field, with whom he used to have the occasional drink or play a round of golf. It may not be so difficult… The golf was out of the question but he was still perfectly capable of social-drinking (to an even greater degree than he ever imagined, as he had discovered at Nathan’s booze-chamber party, though that was not an experience he’d ever repeat when it came to business!). 

Abigail finished dictating the current document, and waited for the manager’s approval.

“Sounds good.” 

As had quickly become routine, Abigail put the paper on the desk and placed a small plastic card down on top of where the signature was to go. There was a rectangular slot cut out of it, exposing the paper. Charles quickly located the card by feel, assuming it was somewhere along the bottom of the page, and placed his pen inside the slot, which Abigail had aligned with the signature line. The “signature guide” was something that Abigail had brought for him to keep. Though he’d generally require the help of a sighted person to place it in the correct area, he appreciated knowing that he could take over once the card was in place, and know that he was signing in the right place.

“So is this what you do all day?” Nathan asked, and Charles was amused at the singer’s attempt to sound as if he wasn’t bored out of his mind.

“It’s a part of it. Paperwork, meetings, budgeting, negotiating, things like that.” Oh, and saving your asses on a regular basis, he thought, with a small amount of affection. 

“I bet negotiating is cool.”

This surprised Charles. He had never known Nathan to take an interest in anything business-related.

“It is, actually. It can be kind of like a game with gains and losses, allies and opponents….”

Just then Nathan’s Dethphone emitted the metallic sounding guitar riff that the band all used as a ringone.

“Hold on a sec,” Nathan said to Charles, placing a hand briefly on the CFO’s arm, as he answered the phone.

“Yeah. Uh huh. How long? Okay. Yeah. Huh. Okay, I’ll come and calm him down.”

When the call ended Nathan explained. “Thunderhorse is freaking out because of some construction. He won’t let anyone near him. I have to go and calm him down. But I think Abigail’s got this… I was looking over her shoulder and she read it all good, I’m pretty sure.”

“Not a problem, Nathan, go take care of your horse. I do appreciate your help though, and we’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay.” He paused. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“Yes, of course, please, go. Give Thunderhorse a carrot from me, alright? I’ll see you later.”

“Okay… Good… Okay, see you later.”

Charles heard him leave and turned to Abigail.

“I’m always surprised by his amazing connection with animals. I guess you just wouldn’t think it by looking at him.”

“Well, a lot of things get distorted by the eyes.”

“Wow, Abigail, stitch that onto a pillow. In Braille or something.” His dry tone was softened by a grin.

“Ha! In the time it would take you to learn Braille, which would probably be about half the time it would take most people, they’ll have come up with a computer that can read anything out loud… thus putting me out of a job!”

“Careful what you wish for, I have the engineers designing me something like that right now. But as far as I know it won’t be able to give Psychological advice, so your services may still be needed.”

“Oh good to know, because I just finished unpacking. Hey, I have a question for you. Are you into rock climbing, or is that climbing-chalk bag over there actually a just a clever way to disguise a cocaine habit? And I’m not judging… I mean, this is the music business…”

Charles laughed. “If I kept a bag of cocaine sitting around my office how long do you think it would last? Have you seen the people I work with? Yes, I climb… Used to climb… I, ah, have a wall setup in my gym. I guess I brought the bag out with me after the last time… I had forgotten it was there.” 

“Have you thought about getting back into it?”

“Thought about it, yes. It’s a little more complicated than just getting back on the wall at this point though. I’m guessing, from the fact that you didn’t just assume it was cocaine, that you’re at least somewhat familiar with climbing?"

“As a hobby, yes. What kind of a wall do you have?”

“Ah, it’s fairly advanced actually. Would you, ah… do you think you might be able to, ah, spot me at some point? And you could climb too of course. I just haven’t been able to find anyone that knows enough about the sport to be able to… act as my eyes, I guess, not that I’ve really been looking. It feels like so long since I’ve had a good work-out... I’m really craving it, actually.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. That’d be fine.”

“You don’t sound so sure, what’s the matter?”

Abigail sighed. “Okay, this is going to sound so arrogant, and I don’t mean to over-analyze this, but just in the interest of not, uh, breaking certain personal rules again this would just be strictly a business “work out”, right?”

Charles nearly laughed. “Are you making sure I’m not hitting on you? No, Abigail, you’re a smart, talented and beautiful woman, but honestly… you’re not my type. And I mean that in the broadest sense possible.”

“Is that a cryptic way of saying…”

“That women are not my thing? Yes, it is.”

“Ohhh. Okay. Great, then you have found yourself a work-out partner! You know you never struck me as gay…”

“And Nathan never struck me as a horse-whisperer. Life’s full of surprises. Better stitch that onto a pillow too,” he grinned slightly.

“Hmm, so how did I strike you as someone who can stitch?” she asked, and he could hear her smile.

They continued to chat as they tackled the rest of the documents, the tone feeling more serious and focused while the documents were being read and signed, but lapsing back into friendly banter in between. They finished the stack with relative ease. 

“Abigail, can you tell me… ah, what kind of media coverage has there been about… what happened?”

Safe inside Mordhaus no reporter or news agency could bother him directly but he imagined that speculation abounded in the outside world. Of course he still had access to TV and radio but, having been overwhelmed by every other ordinary task in his life, he had neglected to pursue any research on the media topic.

“You know, you shouldn’t concern yourself with that. It’s been… well, you know the media…”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s never going to be good. Honestly it ranges from stories indicating you’ve died, for real this time, to theories that you’re completely fine and the whole thing is a big publicity stunt. That’s just what I’ve been gathering from the headlines during the last few weeks. Please don’t think about it Charles. The media will say whatever they want. It doesn’t need to affect you.”

“Why hadn’t I been told about this earlier? This is going to require some kind of damage control.”

“Well, Nathan seems to be taking that upon himself by publically threatening to quote-unquote “fucking crush” anyone who quote-unquote “fucks with you”.”  
Charles put a hand to his head but couldn’t help a small smile. 

“God help them all,” he said. Though he knew he would still have to deal with this, he felt like just the thought that Nathan had his back meant he could put off stressing over it for at least a few more days. He wasn’t normally one to procrastinate, but right now rebuilding his image in the media as Dethklok’s still strong and capable manager, who was very much alive, seemed an overwhelming task compared to regaining the ability to sign contracts and reconnecting with professional associates, to assure them that he was actually alive, if not well.

There was a knock on the door, and then Charles heard it open. He stood up, about to inquire as to who was just waltzing into his office when he heard Nathan’s voice.

“Thunderhorse is better now,” the singer announced. “I think he just needed me to pal around with him a bit. He gets like that sometimes, you know?”

Though Charles didn’t know, he nodded agreeably. 

“Hey,” Abigail started, “Nathan, I’m so glad your horse is okay. Charles, I think I’m going to head out now, and I will see you both tomorrow, okay?”

“Very good. Thank you Abigail,” Charles replied. 

“Bye,” Nathan added.

When she had left, Nathan sat down across from Charles’s desk asked, “So you wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Yes. Ah… You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. I will understand. But, ah, well…. When you, ah, when you get messages from the whale, in your dreams, ah, what is that like?”

There was a pause and Charles was afraid that Nathan had shut down. He knew the other man was self-conscious about his experiences communicating with the whale. Finally Nathan answered,

“It’s like… words in my head, and pictures also… like a dream but clearer and more……”

He paused, searching for a word. Charles waited patiently.

“Distinct.” Nathan blurted out. 

“Do you see what she sees?”

“Maybe… it’s strange, it’s not like seeing… it’s…. it’s different, kind of.”

“How often does this happen?” Charles asked gently.

“Most nights, for a while, and then she stops for a few weeks… it depends. I miss it when it stops, actually…”

Nathan paused, perhaps realizing that he was revealing more than he was comfortable with.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about- the whale?” Nathan asked, a little skeptically.

“Yes, well, sort of. I, ah, I think what you’re experiencing may be similar to what I’m trying to learn with…” he indicated the solar device on one side of his head. “I don’t know, I mean, all I know is that whales “see” with sonar, and you, ah, can communicate with whales, so I didn’t know if…”

“Oh my god, I bet that’s what I’m seeing when she talks to me!” Nathan exclaimed. But his excitement soon turned back to skepticism.

“You don’t think I’m crazy do you?” he asked, and it sounded like the questions was directed towards the floor.

“What? Nathan, no, I don’t. Believe me, I really don’t think you’re crazy. I think you have a gift.”

“Really? Thanks,” Nathan said quietly. “Don’t tell the guys that though, okay, I don’t think they get it.”

“Of course. This is a private conversation. I would never repeat any of it.”

“That’s cool of you, Charles. Hey, turn on your sonar thing… just on low, or whatever…”

Nathan must have seen Charles’s expression drop. 

“That bad? What is it like- what do you see?”

“It’s just sort of like the static when an old tv is tuned wrong, but even less defined.”

“Hmm. Wait, I said that wrong. What do you feel?”

“Ah, besides a headache?”

“I mean, really think about the feeling, outside your body, not inside, do you know what I mean? Turn it on for me, okay?”

Appeased by the gentleness of Nathan’s powerful voice, Charles slowly unlocked the device as Miriam had shown him and switched it to a low setting. He recoiled slightly as the image, if you could even call it that, was thrust into his mind’s eye.

“Shhhh.” Nathan whispered. Charles felt him get up and come behind him until the larger man had a hand on each of his shoulders- holding him steady. Charles didn’t brush him off. 

“Try not to look at it right now, if you can. It’s not meant to be seen, not yet. Stay here for a second.” Charles did as he was told and Nathan let his shoulders go. 

Charles could soon hear the sound of furniture being dragged across the floor  
.  
“Nathan, oh my god. You have to put it all back exactly how it was when we’re done!”

“Relax, I know that! Okay, hold on…”

Charles felt Nathan approach again and gently re-take him by the shoulders. 

“Trust me,” Nathan said quietly, as he steered Charles around his desk and then stopped.

“I want you to walk to the door. There’s stuff in the way. Hold your hands behind your back though. Ready?”

“No. You know I can’t tell what’s in front of me right? I don’t know how to interpret the images yet.”

“Forget the images! For now. That will come later. Just feel it… in your mind… God, I know it sounds fucked up but just trust me. Oh, and turn the beam up, you don’t know what’s around you so you want to be aware of a wider area.”

“You’re a sink or swim kind of teacher, huh?”

“Fuck yeah, and whether you’re a whale, or a human, sinking is brutal!”

Charles took a deep breath and a cautious step forward.

After a few steps he stopped.

“Why did you stop?” the singer asked, and Charles could tell from the proximity of his voice that Nathan was following a few feet behind him. 

“I’m sure I’m just being paranoid, but I feel like I’m about to run into something…”

“Because you are! Good! There’s a chair about a foot in front of you. The sonar feedback meant something to you, even if you don’t really understand it yet. Very good, now keep going.”

Slightly encouraged by his success, but still skeptical, Charles slowly walked around where he perceived the chair to be and continued in the direction of the door. A few steps later he stopped again, this time feeling like the obstacle was larger. He instinctively reached out to feel its edge but Nathan gently grasped his wrist.  
“No hands. Just feel it, you know… in your head…”

“Is it longer, like a table?”

“Yes!” Nathan’s excitement was contagious.

“This is crazy. How can I know that?!” Charles grinned.

“Sonar waves interpreted by those devices as… something… that you are sensing, feeling, whatever… how the fuck should I know but it’s fucking awesome, Charles!”

Charles’ smile broadened. He made his way alongside what he perceived to be the long edge of the table until he reached the end, and then strode forward, feeling rather confident that he was past the table and wasn’t going to run into anything. And he didn’t. 

He carefully navigated around several more obstacles in a similar fashion and eventually stopped, feeling somehow like he had reached a wall. When Nathan confirmed this Charles reached out and feel the door, then turned to Nathan.

“Oh my god, Nathan,” he said, a little breathlessly. “Thank you!” He realized he must have been grinning like a fool but didn’t make any effort to tone down his emotions. 

“It’s nothing, really...” Nathan replied, with a hint of bashfulness.

“It’s not nothing. It’s amazing. Come here,” he reached out to the larger man, and wondered briefly if he sensed a change in the sonar image as Nathan approached. Charles seized the singers by the arm pulled him into a grateful embrace. 

Nathan seemed startled at first but hugged back as Charles continued, with audible emotion,

“I never thought I would be able to do that again. And it may seem like nothing, but to me it feels like everything right now. So thank you, Nathan, thank you so much!”

They hugged for a moment longer and then Charles drew back, but found himself off balance. He took hold of Nathan’s arm to steady himself but the dizzying sensation only increased, accompanied by a wave of nausea. Suddenly he felt an electric pain envelope his head. He gasped and buckled as he heard Nathan’s panicked voice yell his name. The last thing he felt, before he slipped off into nothingness, was the singer’s strong arms catching him on his way to the floor.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

A feeling of déjà-vu washed over Charles as he slowly drifted from sleep into consciousness. The muffled voices. The pain in his temples. The darkness. He had been here before. He had had questions. Where was he? Why did his head hurt? Why were the lights off? Lights. There were no more lights. He knew that. That was the way it was now. That was alright. A voice gently pushed its way through his musings.

“Charles? Can you hear me? Charles….”

“Nathan,” he found himself whispering.

“He’s awake,” he heard the voice call out quietly. “Nathan, he’s asking for you.”

Charles could hear a muffled groan and then a gasp of someone being startled awake. 

“Easy there!” the first voice said. It was the familiar voice of a woman.

“Is he awake? Oh my god, Abigail, how long was I asleep for? I shouldn’t have fallen asleep!” The deep voice made Charles smile slightly, eyes still closed, or perhaps open, he wasn’t even certain.

“It’s been over 2 days, Nathan, you had to sleep at some point.”

“Charles? Hi Charles…” Charles felt the singer lean over the bed, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s been 2 days?” Charles asked weakly, trying to sit up. Nathan gently pushed him back down.

“Shhhhh. You need to rest.”

“Nathan, you’ve had about 10 minutes of sleep in the last 50-plus hours, so I think you need to rest too. It’s okay, he knows you’re here. You at least should sit.” Abigail’s voice was gentle but firm. “Charles, I’m going to go get the doctor, okay.” She paused, and added, “It’s good to have you back.” She gave his arm a squeeze and he then heard her exit the room. 

“Nathan, what..?” But as he went to ask what had happened he registered the feeling of something lying next to him, and the sound of heavy breathing. Nathan had sat back down in the chair he had been waiting in, and had fallen asleep, with his upper body on the bed and his head nestled against Charles’ body. 

The sound of the doctor entering didn’t seem to rouse the sleeping singer. Charles gently pushed himself up on his elbows, and, whispered,

“We can talk later, Doctor. He needs this rest.”

“That is kind of you, Sire. Lord Explosion has refused to sleep, and has barely eaten, over the last two days. I will leave you two alone.”  
Charles heard the man quietly exit as he relaxed back into the bed, feeling glad to have been able to help Nathan with something he needed, for once, instead of the other way around. The singer’s breathing had grown deeper, and soon Charles found himself captivated by the quiet snores of the man who slept beside him.

 

***************

 

As Charles drifted out of sleep he found that Nathan was no longer beside him, but knew, without seeing, that the man was still nearby. He sat up in the bed. He heard Nathan approach, and felt the bed sink as the singer sat down, leaning against Charles’s legs. There was a long and peaceful silence. Eventually Nathan broke it.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“I could say the same to you,” Charles replied amiably. 

More silence followed. 

“I have to go,” Nathan said, though he didn’t get up. “Knubbler’s back and we’re supposed to all go to a stupid meeting about, you know, production stuff.”

“Sounds important and not stupid. You should go so you’re not late.”

“I’m already late. But, whatever, it’s more important that you’re okay. They should all know that.”

“Ah, Thank you Nathan, I appreciate your, ah, presence. You should go to the meeting though. I’ll fill you in on what the doctor says. Have you eaten anything yet?”

“Jean-Pierre is bringing food for our meeting. Pizza, French Toast… you know, all the good stuff. Hey, you should come by and join us. We’re in Recording Studio 1. You and Knubbler can talk about business stuff and… stuff.”

And blind stuff, Charles silently filled in. It was true, he wanted to reconnect with the Producer on a personal, as well as professional, level. And he also wanted to keep himself in the loop as far as the production plans.”

“Alright, I’ll try to swing by in an hour or so.”

“Good! As long as the doctors say it’s okay. Do you know how to get there??”

It was a strange but valid question.

“Yes, I should be able to find it. Before the band-meeting the other day I got a little gift from the Engineering Department.” He held up his hand to indicate his watch. “They’ve installed a GPS in my watch that is programmed specifically for the halls and grounds of Mordhaus. It’s a speech-based interface and gives directions through an ear-piece. I’m actually looking forward to trying it out.” 

“That is so fucking cool,” Nathan stated.

“I think so too. I’ll see you soon, Nathan… And, ah, thank you for being here.”

“Sure,” Nathan replied, as it if was no big deal. “I’ll save you some French Toast.”   
Charles could hear the door almost closed when Nathan stuck his head back in and whispered, 

“By the way, sorry my hair wasn’t washed.” Charles then heard the door close and was left alone to ponder Nathan’s strange comment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

After talking to the doctor and being cleared to leave, Charles indicated to his newly revamped watch that he wished to go to Recording Studio One. The female voice that indicated it was processing his request reminded him of the Enterprise Computer on Star Trek. 

“In 100 feet, turn right to exit-door of Medical Complex.”

His concentration was interrupted by a well-meaning Gear staffing the Medical Center.

“Sire, do you require assistance?”

“No, thank you. I’ll call if I need anything.”

“Very good, sire.” 

And with that he continued forward until his extended cane found the wall in front of him, at the same time as the GPS told him to turn to the right. His therapist had recommended that the directions be programmed in a way to where they worked in conjunction with the use of the cane, as this currently remained his primary guidance method. The GPS didn’t account for moveable obstacles such as furniture or people. That was where the sonar would one day be able to come in, he hoped.

He continued on, splitting his attention between the instructions in his ear and the indications of the cane.

The trip was uneventful and, eventually, successful, to his great delight. He located the palm-scanner and triggered the glass studio door to slide open. He was greeted with a chorus of hellos from several of the band-members. Then a high pitched nasally voice exclaimed,

“Charles! Hey! How the fuck are you??”

He heard Knubbler approach and wasn’t surprised when the slight Producer threw an arm around his shoulder and gave him a friendly squeeze. Without letting Charles answer, Knubbler continued,

“So I was saying that robotic eyes, man, they’re the way to go but these guys are telling me that that won’t work, which really sucks cause they are kind of freaking awesome, especially on LSD. Those bastards!”

Charles wasn’t sure if the “bastards” Knubbler was referring to were the Revengencers who had injured him in the first place or the Mordhaus doctors who had sealed the deal. But Knubbler continued.

“I like the black cane. Nice. But, uhhh, what’s with the dark glasses? Your eyes are fine aren’t they? I mean… they’re still there right? Cause I’m telling you, man, that was not fun…”

Charles knew the “that” to which Knubbler referred was his own harrowing eyeball experience. He shuddered inwardly. 

“Ah, yes, they’re, ah, there. The glasses… Well, I, ah.…”

He was saved from having to admit his own self-consciousness by Nathan’s approaching voice, 

“Charles! You made it! Sit down, let me get you a plate, what do you want? Besides French Toast?”

“Ah, just French Toast is fine. Thank you.” Nathan was so proud of the French Toast that Charles didn’t want to refuse it, although it could prove to be messy.

“Do you know where the couch is… sort of right in front of you… watch out for the coffee table…”

Charles was familiar with the layout of the room, and located the couch and table easily. He took a seat on the closest end of the couch, and heard Nathan put a plate and silverware down in front of him. 

“How much syrup? And don’t tell me you’re one of those people who eats French Toast without syrup because that’s just wrong.”

“Alright then, regular amount, I guess.” He had never had to quantify his syrup use before.

“Done. Eat! I’m gonna grab seconds, be right back. Do you want coffee or anything?”

“Sure, coffee’s good. Black. Thanks, Nathan,” Charles replied, as he felt the silverware in front of him to identify the knife and fork, and started to cut up the stack. 

“Isch that hard to do, I mean without scheeing it?” Charles had heard someone approach and Murderface’s voice indicated that he was now standing over the back of the couch, and was working on a plate of his own, as he observed Charles.

“Ah, it takes more concentration, I guess.” Charles lifted a forkful quickly to his mouth, hoping there wouldn’t be time for any syrup to drip off.

“And how do you, you know, get it in your mouth without schtabbing yourschelf in the facshe, if you can’t schee it?”

Charles had to stifle a laugh to keep from choking. He put the fork down and turned backwards to face the bassist. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t necessarily a stupid question.

“Well, ah, you just sort of know, where, ah, your hand and mouth both are, without being able to see them… Close your eyes and try it, you might be surprised.”

A moment later Murderface exclaimed, with a mouth still full of food, “Oh yeah, that was easchy!”

“See?” Charles was pleased to show Murderface that not everything in his life had been rendered difficult or impossible.

“This better not be more robot questions!” Nathan had returned, and took a seat on the couch, closer to Charles, the manager noticed, than to the other empty side of the couch.

“No, Charlesch is teaching me how to eat!”

“Huh?”

Figuring Nathan didn’t actually require an answer, Charles instead asked the two men if they could gather the others for him, as he had something he wanted to go over with them all.

Soon Charles felt another body sink into the couch and heard Toki’s high pitched and enthusiastic greeting “Charles, you ams back! Agains!”. This was followed by the approaching greetings of Skwisgaar and Pickles. 

“Everyone’s here,” Nathan leaned over and whispered to Charles, who was already aware that such was the case. He swallowed his food and began.

“I got a call this morning, actually on my way down here, from the head of Associated Press claiming to want to put on a Dethklok concert, early next week, consisting of one song. It would pay the full price of a regular show. Guys, from what I gathered from the conversation, what they’re really looking for is to see that you are all still alive and well. There’s been a fair amount of speculation and, ah, rumor as to what has happened to me and it makes sense that this, ah, curiosity would also include the five of you, since no one has actually seen or heard from any of you since the end of the last promo tour.” 

“One song? Seriously? That’s awesome!” Pickles spoke up enthusiastically.

“Which ones ams we playings?” Skwisgaar enquired.

“Your choice. Look at this more like a P.R. move than an actual concert. The fans and press just need to know that Dethklok is still alive and unharmed.”

“You are a part of Dethklok,” Nathan stated pointedly.

Charles felt himself flush slightly. He waited for dissenting voices but upon not hearing any he replied, “Well then, ah, shall we say alive and, ah, still kicking, then…” 

Charles couldn’t suppress a grin as he felt the singer lean into him.

“We’ll do it,” Nathan with finality, and no one argued.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

“So, what on earth happened? I don’t mean to pry but if I’m going to be spotting you on this wall, I would really like to be confident that you’re not going to short-out and kill yourself. Do you know how bad that would make me look?” Abigail’s tone belied a sly grin which Charles was inclined to match. After his latest trip to the Medical Wing, Charles had been more eager than ever to get back to “normal”, and normal for him included exercise. He had managed to convince Abigail to that it was not too soon to go climbing by threatening to go on his own if she didn’t join him. Now, just a day after he had been discharged from the hospital, he was dressed in work-out clothes, and doing some stretching to loosen up. Abigail was stretching next to him.

“You just don’t want me to come crashing down on you. But it shouldn’t happen.” Charles sighed slightly, his smile dissolving. “According to the doctor, I went into sensory overload due to the extended sonar –use,” and then, recalling the incident, he added, “which wasn’t even very long. The medical staff had to induce a brief state of unconsciousness in order to run some tests to make sure the overload didn’t cause any physical damage, which apparently, it didn’t. So that’s good, at least. But they are saying it appears that the sonar-use may have to be temporary, at best. Though, now that I have an idea of how valuable it can be, I have to say it’s probably still worth having been turned into a cyborg.” He continued to stretch.

“So it’s just a matter of easing into it then, taking more time for your body to adapt?”

“That, and knowing when to shut it down. There were some warning signs that I ignored. Dizziness. Nausea. A bolt of pain….”

“Sounds fantastic.”

“Almost as fantastic as waking up in the hospital.”

“With Nathan snuggled next to you and your hand in his hair?”

Charles nearly fell over.

“Excuse me??”

“It was beautiful. When I came back to check on you guys, you were both asleep, and your hand was entwined in his hair. I wasn’t aware that you two were together, but it really makes so much sense now…”

“Wait, Abigail, we’re not. Together, that is. What makes you think that…” Oh god, besides my hand buried in his hair!? I must have been on the edge of consciousness. But I woke up alone... And Nathan’s strange apology about “unwashed hair”…. 

“Oh my god,” was all Charles could manage.

“Oh, wow, I’m so sorry, I just… well the other day I walked into the meeting just as you were talking about sharing his bed, and I really didn’t think anything of it until we talked later, and then thinking about you two together, the way he looks at you…”

“Tell, me, ah, how does he look at me?”

“Like… like he’s found something he never knew he was looking for.”

Charles stopped mid-stretch, and then sank to the ground.

“You okay?”

“Sure. Except for the fact that I just unconsciously put a move on the front-man of my band, and now I’m finding out you think he might actually be receptive? Even if I chose to believe you, to, ah, pursue this would be the ultimate mixing of business and pleasure... Sounds like a terrible idea, really …” He trailed off.

“I think we both know the whole “no dating in the workplace” thing can be wise, not to mention convenient as hell… but when you find yourself falling into something really special… well, maybe it’s time to make an exception…”

“I, ah, I need some time to think this all through. What do you say we hit the wall?”

“Sure. Oh, so I’ve been meaning to ask you… this wall… the fact that it goes all the way up and then covers half the ceiling, that’s just for decoration, right?”  
“I did tell you that it was rather advanced, didn’t I?”

“Well you didn’t tell me that you’re Spider Man!”

“I prefer Superman.” Charles smiled slightly in her direction. He got up and made his way to the wall. He examined the area in front of him with his hands, recalling familiar holds. 

“Please tell me you’re forgetting something.” Abigail said expectantly. When Charles turned back to her but remained silent she continued, 

“Harness. I don’t want your death on my conscious, remember!”

“Ohhh. Right. Of course.” He didn’t bother to tell her that he used to avoid using a safety-harness just so he could practice not only the climb, but also landing from various heights.

When they were both harnessed-up Charles once again felt the wall. Normally he would just breeze up to the one of the more challenging areas of the wall. Now everything was more challenging, but he was not one to back away from a challenge. 

“Go ahead and start,” Charles instructed Abigail. “I’ll let you know if I get stuck and need you to describe the path.” 

“Okay, if you’re sure. I won’t get too far away. And judging by the intensity of this wall, I’m guessing that you were far more advanced than I am, and probably still are.”

“Well, that remains to be seen.” His hand located a good hold above him and felt, with a foot, for a lower one to step up on. He found it with surprising ease, and was suddenly no longer on the ground. He paused for a moment, taking in the feeling, and could hear Abigail some distance off to his left.

“It’s usually not this quiet. I tend to have music going, but I figured we should be able to hear each other, at this point.”

“So I take it you weren’t playing Smooth Jazz then?”

Not exactly. A little Metallica, AC/DC, Disturbed, things like that.”

“What, no Dethklok?”

“That would be like working in sugar factory and eating nothing but candy.”

“Hmm, point taken.”

“Of course I do love hearing Dethklok, just not so much to unwind to. I like to really listen to it, you know. The layers, the feeling, the lyrics.”

“I’ve often been impressed with the lyrics too.” Abigail chimed in. “Nathan seems to really be able to express himself well through writing.”

Charles paused, silent for a moment.

“Where do I go from here?” 

“Well there’s a good hold about 2, maybe 3 feet up and half a foot to your right… and there’s a harder one to your left, but it’s a bit closer… Do you mean hand or foot hold?”

“I mean Nathan!”

“Ohhhhh!! Well… I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”

Charles paused again, not even wanting to say it out loud, but glad, at the same time, to have someone to talk to. 

“I want for Nathan to be happy and comfortable with whatever happens, even if that means he never finds out about it.”

“You don’t think he’s receptive?”

“Why would he be??”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What do you think I mean? Even if he was potentially interested… he’s Nathan Explosion! He could have anyone he wanted. Someone he can have fun with, someone who won’t cramp his style, someone who will never burden him…”

“You just described a groupie. Is that what you think he wants, I mean really wants? And as for you, you’re Charles Ofdensen! And you are still a force to be reckoned with. Don’t ever forget it!”

They were both quiet for a moment and then Abigail continued,

“Maybe a second opinion would help.”

They climbed in silence for a while as Charles pondered who he could seek such an opinion from.

As it happened, the answer came knocking at his door the next day.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

“Come in,” Charles called, from his office desk. He had been organizing various documents that had been inputted into a new computer system which allowed him to access them verbally and have them read out loud into an earpiece. 

He looked up as the door opened, listening for any indication as to who his visitor was.

“Charlie… hey, I’ve got a question for ya!” It was Pickles cheery voice, and from the lack of a slur, Charles could tell that the drummer was not very drunk yet. 

“Pickles’, please, have a seat.” He indicated to the chair that was facing his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“You have any lamps that need breaking?” Charles could all but hear the man’s lopsided grin. “I’m just kiddin’. Seriously though, question… We’ve narrowed it down to two songs for the mini-concert, and you need to choose which one.”

“Ah, really? Okay, what are they?”

There was a pause that felt rather contrived. Finally Pickles continued,

“It’s either “Castratikron” or “Ejaculate Fire”. The choice is yours. Choose wisely.”

Charles was perplexed by the odd request.

“Interesting selections… And, ah, you want me to choose?”

“Yeah. Art imitating life.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Okay, just so you know, I am rolling my eyes right now, dood. Seriously. It’s time to make the move. I mean, when are you and Nathan gonna stop fuckin’ around and start *fucking around*??”

If Charles had been taking a drink at that moment Pickles would now be covered in it. Instead he tried to compose himself, with little success.

“Ah, are you saying, ah, what are you saying?” 

“Charlie. You may think we don’t see past our own asses, and, okay, so you’d have a point a lot of the time, but it’s pretty obvious that you and Nathan, you know, have something goin’ on! Or want to, anyway, so what’s the problem?”

“Are you…. What makes you so sure, that Nathan, ah…”

“That he digs you? Okay, so I wasn’t sure at first, cause he’s usually into the ladies, but like, really, a lot of that’s been pretty superficial… And, seriously, dood, he will not shut up about you! He gets all kinda sweet when he talks about you, which would be pretty nauseating if it wasn’t kinda cute, cause, I mean, he’s Nathan, and he’s acting like a freakin’ puppy!”

Charles felt himself blush, which did not go un-noticed by Pickles.

“I knew the feeling was mutual! So, seriously, “Castratikron” or “Ejaculate Fire”… Nathan needs to know what song he’s singing, dood.”

Charles felt a surge of empowerment from the drummer’s observations. 

“Well, Pickles, thank you, for, ah, bringing this matter to my attention. I will, ah, see to it, ah, soon…”

“Dood, am I some executive guy who you’ve just had a business meeting with? I’ve seen you passed out drunk on the floor, remember?”

“True… very true. Well, ah, right then… Seriously, thank you Pickles, I, ah, I kind of needed that information. I know which song to pick now…”

“I know you do, dood. The band’s already practicing it. Hang in there, Charlie. See you at tomorrow’s meeting!”

With that, the drummer walked to the door, casually humming a tune.

After hearing the door close, Charles leaned his head into his hands and broke into a giant grin.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.
> 
> NOTE: This story is intended to be the first of a trilogy. The second part, "Staring At The Sun", is in production and hopefully I will start posting soon... :)

Charles was used to being the first one at the band meetings, so the next day he was surprised to walk in to the meeting room and hear the buzz of quiet conversation. It stopped suddenly as he entered.

“Well, ah, hello there. Am I late?… What time is it?” Charles asked, shocked at the boys’ early arrival and not exactly sure which band members he was addressing.  
“No, no, you’re fine, Charles, we’re uh, extra early, that’s all. Everyone except, uh, Pickles, who’s… uh, not here yet.” Nathan was quick to reassure Charles that he wasn’t running late, but there was something odd about the way he was hesitating.

Charles tried to brush it off and made his way to his seat at the head of the table. He had learned that there were approximately 7 steps from the door to the table and this was confirmed as his cane gently taped the edge of the chair. He sat down.

“So where is Pickles then?” he asked.

“Ohhhh, Pickle is…” Toki started, his tone heavy.

“…Comings soon! Pickle ams gonna be heres soon…” Skwisgaar finished quickly, cutting the Norwegian off.

“Yeah, schoon. Then we can get thisch meeting schtarted!” Murderface, enthusiastic about a meeting? Charles was about to ask what the hell was going when the door opened, presumably revealing Pickles.

“Doods! Oh, hey Charles…” As Pickles was approaching the table Charles heard Nathan’s whispered voice say,

“Oh shit, that is brutal!”

“What is brutal?” Charles loudly asked with annoyance.

Murderface was the first to reply. “Oh, you know, lotsch of schtuff… like uh, psycho axe-murdering… 40 car pile-upsch, and like ten of them are gasholine trucksch… uh, guillotinesch chopping off people’sch headsh, or their cocksh… That’sch all brutal, right fellasch?”

“Yes, ands also guts ams brutal, and bloods, and puke, and guts, bloods and puke mixed togethers...” Toki chimed in as if it was a game. “And when your cat ams dead, that ams totally brutal, and… Wowee, Pickle, your hand ams brutal too!”

Oh my god. “Pickles, what happened to your hand??” Charles raised his voice to be heard over Toki as the rhythm guitarist continued his list out loud.

“So, okay, here’s the thing….” The drummer started. “Don’t be mad or nothing’ but this morning at breakfast we were, uh, dickin’ around and uh, Murderface kind of, uh…. accidentally stabbed me in the hand.”

“What!?” Charles could feel a headache coming on. “How does one accidentally stab someone in the hand at the breakfast table??”

“Well, like you schaid the other day, I knew where my hand and mouth were, but juscht not Pickle’sch hand, and I went to stab another piecshe of frencsh toascht juscht asch he wasch reacshing for it…”

“Oh my god.” Charles put both hands to his now throbbing temples. “Tell me you were not all playing “blind”, while eating with daggers.”

“I wasch the only one with a dagger. I alwaysch eat with one!” Murderface chimed in pointedly.

This was too much. If Pickles couldn’t play, and he couldn’t very well play with a wounded hand, it would mean they’d have to cancel the concert. The concert that was going to show the world that Dethklok was alive and well and that Charles could still do his job. But could he? He hadn’t been able to prevent his boys from accidentally stabbing each other. In fact, in an indirect way, he may have even encouraged their behavior, though he certainly didn’t condone it. 

“When,” Charles started slowly and darkly, “were you going to tell me about this?” It grated him that he had found out only because the band’s failure at subtlety. Were they just planning on letting him think everything was fine?

“Uhhh,” It was Pickles. “Dood, we were going to tell you, it’s just that, well, we knew you’d be mad….”

“Really, why would I be mad!?” Charles barked, clearly upset. “Why should it bother me if you see this whole thing,” he indicated to his eyes, “as a curiosity, or a joke? Why should I mind if you carelessly hurt yourselves days before a concert that is meant to show the world that everything’s fine here, that it’s business as usual? Maybe that concert is a joke, because everything is not fine and it’s not business as usual.” He paused to take a deep breath, amidst the silence of the band members.

“Pickles,” He started more calmly, but there was an edge to his voice. “Have you seen the doctor about your hand?” The fact that there had been comments about the “brutality” of the wound encouraged Charles to believe it had not been properly cared for.

“The last time I saw a doctor he had me convinced I was dying, remember?? I don’t want to go through that again!”

“Describe the wound to me. Details.”

“It ams bleedings all overs the place!” Toki cried out, as if he’d been repressing this information the whole time.  
“What? You didn’t stop the bleeding? Oh god.” He thought for a moment while Pickles explained,

“Well I did have this bandage, but I guess it’s kind of soaked through. Actually I really don’t feel great.”

“That’s because you’re losing blood. Here, take this, and go to the doctor now, or you will be dying!” Charles loosened his red tie, pulled it over his head and reached across the table towards the drummer.  
“Can somebody wrap this for him, and go with him to the hospital wing. Do not take your time. I’ll let them know that you’re coming. 

“I’ll go!” Murderface said enthusiastically. “Maybe you’ll get stitchesch!”

“You did this to me, asshole! Whatever, alright, fine. But you are NOT helping them give me stitches!!”

Charles activated the com unit on his watch and alerted the medical wing of the situation, requested that he be notified of their arrival and kept up to date, and finally added that under no circumstance should Murderface be allowed to do any medical procedures.

“Go. Now!” Charles suddenly found himself exhausted, and after he heard the two men leave, he sunk down in his chair.  
“Well, the meeting was going to be about the concert, and, well, that’s not happening, so you might as well all go.”  
“Alrights. We’ll talks to yous later. C’mon, Tokis.” Charles heard the two Scandinavians leaving together. He directed his attention to Nathan’s spot at the table.

“Well?”

“Look,” Nathan started. “Charles. I know what this concert was for you, okay. I’m gonna make this right.”

“Really.” Charles found he couldn’t keep the hurt out of voice now that he was alone with Nathan. He stood up and turned away.  
Nathan quietly came up behind him, put a hand on his shoulder and gently spun him around so they were facing each other.

“We can’t do the concert,” the singer said quietly. “But we can do something even better. I was talking to everyone before you came in about this and we decided… we’re gonna make a new album. We’ll announce it at what would have been the concert. Everyone will know that Dethklok, all of Dethklok,” he gave Charles’s shoulder a squeeze, “is back!”

“And what do the others have to say about this,” Charles asked skeptically.

“Some of them needed a little convincing, but they’re all for it, now. And I didn’t even have to threaten them.”

Nathan Explosion and his powers of persuasion. Charles couldn’t suppress a slight grin, which didn’t go unnoticed by Nathan.

“What?” Nathan asked with a smile in his voice.

“It’s just… you never cease to amaze me. You convinced the band to do a whole new album? Do you know what it’s like to try and get you guys to even show up for practice?? You amaze me, Nathan.”

Charles felt as the singer’s fingers start to gently caress the back of his neck, and he took in a quick breath.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Nathan replied, and his low, gravelly voice seemed to take on a velvet quality. With his free hand, Nathan reached up and removed Charles’ glasses, placing them on the table next to them. Then Nathan softly took Charles’s hand and placed it against his face. “I want you to see how you make me feel,” Nathan whispered. Charles could felt along the singers’ strong jaw line and the curve of the younger man’s broad smile. Nathan pulled Charles in closer and found the CFO’s parted lips with his own. The kiss started slow and gentle, yet felt like it was being held back, as if each didn’t want to seem too eager, until Charles reached around and grabbed Nathan’s hair, pulling him in firmly. His second hand found it’s way into the black locks, gripping at the roots, not wanting to let go.  
When Nathan finally gently broke off, he took a deep breath, as if taking in Charles’s scent. Then he leaned closer and said, 

“We’ve even come up with a name for the new album.”

“Oh?” Charles asked, resting his head against the taller man’s broad shoulder.

Nathan leaned down and whispered into Charles’s ear,

“We’re going to call it "Out of Darkness".”

Charles looked up at Nathan, and could almost picture the singer’s beaming face.

He pulled Nathan in and their lips met again, and for the first time Charles comfortably allowed himself to become completely enveloped in the darkness, feeling each cell in his body sparkle with life.

When they pulled slightly apart Charles whispered back, “Out of Darkness… Comes Light.”

 

* * * * * 

The End of Part 1, “Out of Darkness”

 

This story is followed by a new story called “Staring at the Sun”, which is part 2 of a potential trilogy. Several parts have been posted here so far so please check it out! :-D 

 

Thank you so much for reading my first story. I hope you enjoyed it! 

:) DK


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